Our Ghosts Are The Same
by VaultEscapeArtist
Summary: Aedan Cousland is sent to the Champion of Kirkwall banquet for a purpose other than simply sending His Majesty's congratulations. Aedan is to recruit Marian Hawke as a Ferelden spy, a task he is reluctant to complete. Hawke, of course, is hell bent on engaging Aedan in combat, in witty banter over drinks, or in other nefarious activities.
1. Chapter 1: Spirits

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Pairings: **Marian Hawke/Fenris, Cousland/Morrigan, Hawke/Cousland

**Chapter 1: **Spirits

**A/N: **This is my first ongoing Dragon Age fic so feedback would be _awesome_.

* * *

Aedan Cousland, Commander of the Grey in Amaranthine, emerged from the Deep Roads mostly unscathed. This particular entrance had lain unexplored in the Wending Wood for quite some time before one of the Dalish had thought to mention it to a passing Warden. Aedan stepped outside, took a breath of air that wasn't tainted by darkspawn rot, and raised a hand to shield his eyes. That last move was an unnecessary one. As usual, the sun was hidden by extensive masses of dark clouds, which was a blessing. After being in underground for so long it was a pain having to wait for one's eyes to adjust to natural light.

Ever since he had been announced Warden-Commander, Aedan had been advised against leaving Vigil's Keep for any reason, and especially not for extended voyages into the Deep Roads. In other words he had been told not to do any actual "Wardening". He still had no idea what idiot thought _that_ would actually bloody work.

This particular trip had been a short one, but he still took pride in the fact that they hadn't lost a single Warden. Granted, they had still ended up all covered with darkspawn blood and other unidentifiable slime, but they had all made it out alive. Their newest member, a former Circle mage Aedan had saved from the noose, was complaining about her current state of clothing.

"We all smell worse than a brothel privy during the hottest day of an Antivan summer. We're going to _bathe_, right? The instant we get back to that bloody keep? Because if my first statement was unclear, we all smell like _shit_."

That description was so unnecessary that Aedan decided not to comment on it at all. His stomach was letting him know that a week on nothing but dried meat and stale bread was not cutting it. He quickly dug around in his pack for something to eat. He was infamous around Vigil's Keep for turning into a real hardass when he was hungry. Answering Sienna's complaints would be a waste of energy.

Arnaud Cartier, an ex-Orleasian Chevalier, on the other hand, thought _he_ had to respond to the mage's comments. "Sienna, darling, what _really_ needs washing is that mouth of yours. I can't imagine you learned that sort of language in the Circle."

The mage stopped scraping muck off her boots with a stick she had just picked up. She gave the Orleasian a sickly sweet smile and a toss of her chestnut brown hair. "Well, you have a poor imagination, then. Because the templar I pushed down those stairs was cussing up a _storm_ as he tumbled down. You know, they really should make that templar armor more flexible. He might have been able to stop himself from continuing to roll down then."

Aedan raised a hand to silence them both. "Stop talking before something big finds us and decides that as smelly as we are we'd still make a nice meal." The two of them shut up, not because of his words, but because of the cold glint in his eyes. Once he had their attention he then made Sienna take point and scout on ahead. As loud as she liked to be she was still the stealthiest of the bunch and her mage robes were much quieter than their clinking armor. She vanished into the woods ahead of them only to come back a few minutes later. Aedan's brow furrowed and he slid his longsword an inch out of its sheath. "Trouble?"

"I've usually heard him called Nathaniel, but Trouble's good, too." Sienna stepped to the side, allowing the archer in question to be seen.

Aedan relaxed, striding forward to meet the man halfway. "Howe, how nice to see you again."

Nathaniel rolled his grey eyes, but his expression remained grim and resolute. "Commander, you've received an urgent summons. From the King."

Sighing and ignoring the curious whispers of his men and women behind him, Aedan gave a very unlordly snort. "You mean from _Eamon_. Alistair wouldn't bother me for a visit. At least not urgently. Did you read it?"

"It had the King's seal on it and specific directions that said it was only for the eyes of the Warden-Commander and the consequence for disobedience was death by hanging."

"So...you read it?"

"Well, _yes_." Nathaniel began moving in the direction he had come from originally. "We'll talk at the Keep. The letter's contents are for a more _private_ conversation." He stressed that last statement quietly.

"Fine." Aedan had a growing feeling that he wasn't going to like this at all. If Nathaniel had hiked out to find him, the letter must have been pretty damn important. And if there were death threats on the envelope it was definitely from Eamon. "We'll continue this later. But first, we head home. And then...a bath."

Aedan and Nathaniel both ignored the shouts of approval from the others.

* * *

"Stop _shouting_!"

"Stop poking me!" Hawke shirked away from Anders's probing hands. "Leave it alone!"

"I have to dress the wound!" Anders caught one of her flailing wrists. "Hawke, this is a _serious_ wound. Even with my magic it's going to take time to heal. You're lucky the Arishok left your organs intact."

Hawke lied back down in her bed, growling and finally allowing Anders to do his work. "Yes," she drawled, ignoring the sharp prick of Anders's stitching needle. "When the Arishok put his sword through my gut and hoisted me up in the air I was thinking how _lucky_ I was that he missed my internal organs. I would have gone gambling, considering how _lucky_ I felt, but oddly enough I found I was bleeding all over the floor and couldn't walk on my own. But, boy, was I _lucky_-"

Anders paused so he could frown down at her. "If you're going to be sarcastic..."

"Anders, right now all I have is sarcasm. Look at me!" she complained, making a sweeping gesture at herself. "I can't move which means I can't fight which makes me _useless_." Hawke pulled at her hair which had grown during her time as an invalid. She'd have to get Orana to cut if off for her. "I know Meredith made me Champion because of the little dance I had with the Arishok but I haven't done much Championing _here_, have I?"

"I'm sure you'll feel much more Champion-like during the banquet." Anders finished stitching the wound and made her sit up so he could wrap it.

"_What_ banquet?" Hawke winced as the wrappings put pressure on her ribcage. Her ribs had been bruised a bit, a fact she discovered when Isabela popped over for a visit and told one of her damn jokes. Laughing with bruised ribs was not something Hawke wanted to experience ever again. Unfortunately, she laughed quite often. Mostly at her own jokes, but that couldn't be helped.

"The Champion's Banquet, they're calling it," he answered, helping her lie back down and taking a seat at the edge of her bed. "Aveline was supposed to tell you about it. They had to postpone it because of your wounds...And so all the Orleasian nobles could arrive in time."

"Orleasian nobles?" Hawke repeated sourly. Not just _Orleasians_, not just _nobles_, but _both_ at once. "Is this a reward or a punishment?"

Anders laughed in his quiet way. "It's _supposed_ to be a reward. The nobles will probably bring you things."

"Well, I like things," she decided at last. She didn't feel comfortable about having a banquet in her honor, but there was no polite way to refuse. At least there'd be free food. She finally looked to Anders, taking in his worn expression. She couldn't help feeling a bit guilty. She had heard his scream when the Arishok had got her. If Anders would just stop feeling so damn strongly about _everything_, he might be able to find some peace. It was unlikely that he'd ever change, though. Hawke looked away from him and offered, "Are you going to stay? I could use some company. I'd talk to myself but I've run out of things to say."

He answered too fast. "I can stay for a bit."

He settled in while Hawke searched for a conversation topic. Suddenly she noticed Anders's eyes wander over to the lute she kept in her room. She stared him down and waited for it.

"Maybe I should play you something-"

"Get out."

He knew she meant it as a joke, but the sudden presence of another in the room made Anders take his leave anyway. "Well, look who _finally_ made it." Anders had stopped trying to hide his distaste of Fenris years ago. "Was the walk from your place to Hawke's too much for you? I can see how it'd be difficult to walk a few feet and then turn a corner-"

Hawke cut him off once more. "Anders, thank you for patching me up. If I manage to rip out the stitches or start bleeding all over the place I'll send Bodahn for you." This was the first time Fenris had visited her since the fight with the Arishok and she didn't need Anders getting him in a worse mood than usual.

"I'm going to check on you tomorrow," Anders told her sternly, brushing past Fenris and then heading downstairs. That left the two of them alone and with a heavy silence between them. Tired of everything always being so complicated with them, Hawke refused to speak first.

"I hope the mage did his job correctly," was all the elf said, grimly crossing his arms and leaning against her doorway.

Hawke closed her eyes before replying, "Anders _was_ going to go about it all proper, but I convinced him to perform the whole operation blindfolded. Then we played "pin the tail on the Arch-demon". I think we misplaced my spleen, though all in all it was still a good time." She snuck a peek at him only to find that same grimace on his face. She sighed and tired to sit up. "No response? Damn, the Arishok must've broken my funny bone. He broke everything else, so why not?" Fenris was even less amused by that. Her good humor left her and she decided to get straight to business. "Why did you decide to visit _now_? Why didn't you come when..." She really didn't want to say it. "When it wasn't certain that I'd make it."

He stepped out of the doorway then, his fists clenched. "Of _course_ I was here! I was out running errands for the mage! Would you have preferred that I had stayed by your bed, weeping uselessly like the witch was? What good would _that_ have done?" He paced a bit and glared down at the floor. "I had to take orders from the abomination. I need more towels, more of _this_ herb, more of _that_...It was endless," he snapped, his green eyes leaving the floor to focus on her. "But it got you well." He didn't mention that some of Anders's tasks seemed useless; made up excuses to keep him out of the mansion and away from Hawke.

Hawke wasn't sure how to look at him. She had been so out of it, so focused on her own pain that she hadn't known that Fenris had allowed himself to be ordered about by Anders. Merrill's worried sobbing had been hard to overlook, but she had somehow missed all of that.

"Oh. Thank you," she replied even though it was a stupid thing to say. She just needed to break the tension.

Fenris took a step back towards the door. He looked back at her with a fixed, blank expression on his face. "If you don't need anything I should let you rest."

She was tired of resting. She wanted to run even though she knew if she tried she'd just pass out before reaching the door. Hawke blew air at her bangs and informed him that she didn't want anything.

* * *

"But _what_ does Eamon want from me? What's his game plan?" Aedan Cousland was muttering mostly to himself as he climbed the stairs that led to his office. Since Nathaniel Howe was close at his heels he figured he was meant to answer.

"He wants you to suck up to Kirkwall's newest celebrity." Nathaniel ordered away the warden that was standing guard outside the Commander's study and closed the door behind them. He had told Aedan that this discussion was dangerous to any that might happen to overhear. Now that they were alone the Commander was bursting with questions.

"Eamon wants me to play nice with a Free Marcher? Why?"

"She's not a Free Marcher, actually. She's Ferelden."

This celebrity was a she? That didn't bode well. "I'm not going to marry her if that's what he wants." Aedan glanced up at his family sword and shield that were mounted on the wall. It was irritating to see that they were starting to gather dust. He had used them both when he had delivered the final blow to the Arch-demon, but now they were simply wall ornaments. Couslands did what was needed for Ferelden and nothing less. He was a Warden now, not a noble. He would use a Warden shield and blade, just as his men did.

"I don't _know_ if that's what he wants," Nathaniel admitted, shrugging. "Arl Eamon and King Alistair are on their way here as we speak. That's why I went to retrieve you."

"Alistair's coming?" Aedan asked curiously. He hadn't seen Alistair in... Damn. It had to have been at least a year since they had met and that time had been only a brief affair. A simple request for men and nothing more.

"Yes. And soon," Nathaniel clarified. "We should tell the men to prepare a sufficient welcome."

"Of course." Aedan waved him off. "Have a few scout ahead so they can alert us when Alistair and Eamon are close. Also, find out if any of the Wardens know anything about this woman in Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall has made her their Champion. Or so Delilah tells me." Nathaniel paused at the doorway to think for a moment. "Actually, I think her brother's a Warden. He runs with Stroud. Carver Hawke, I believe his name was."

"But I bet he's too far away to answer any of my questions about his sister," Aedan guessed, settling in to the chair behind his cluttered desk.

"He should still be in the Deep Roads by Kirkwall."

It figured. "Ah, well, find me anyone else willing to talk about the Champion. I don't like going into these sorts of things blind."

"I wouldn't either." Nathaniel nodded to him and left.

It wasn't long until Nathaniel had rooted out Vigil's Keep's biggest gossip and sent him Aedan's way. Soon enough Arnaud Cartier was sitting in the Warden-Comander's office, looking pleased at himself for no particular reason. "Commander," he grinned, still chewing on the apple he had been working on when Nathaniel had cornered him in the mess hall. "Nathaniel said you wanted the latest on Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, scourge of the undercity, and pain in the templars' collective asses. What do you want to know?"

Aedan knew little about Arnaud. He was one of the oldest Wardens they had. Evidently the Orleasian had been a Chevalier and a damn good one before he deflowered the wrong noble's daughter. A few words to the Empress and he was banished, stuck wandering Thedas for new work. When mercenary work didn't come with bed and breakfast he had found himself at Vigil's Keep with nothing better to do than chug a bit of darkspawn blood and then pass out. Aedan didn't know anything more about the man because Arnaud surprisingly never started any trouble.

Aedan stepped out from behind his desk and moved to stand in front of Arnaud. He had been called "Ferelden barbarian" enough times to know that he was a large man, especially for a human. Towering over Arnaud was not meant to intimidate him so much as remind him who he was speaking with. "Tell me about this woman. And make it short."

Arnaud waited until he could swallow his last bit of apple before he began. "You just want an overview of what I've heard?"

"That would be perfect."

"Fine," he agreed easily enough. "I only know about her time in Kirkwall. Everything I've heard about her life before sounds like bullshit." Arnaud quickly explained to Aedan that Marian Hawke had started life in Kirkwall as an apostate working for the Red Iron, a cutthroat mercenary band. She left after a year to form a motley crew to venture into the Deep Roads with. While she was down there her brother got the taint and was made a Warden while she got rich and went home. Her mother died in a bad way. There were too few mentions of it to be sure how it had happened. Eventually the Qunari staying in Kirkwall attacked and Hawke killed the Arishok in single combat. Arnaud had also mentioned something about her wrestling a dragon but Aedan was fairly certain that was all shit.

Aedan took the information in, though he failed to see how it concerned him or what Eamon wanted with this woman. Marian Hawke was an excellent example of Ferelden's infamous stubbornness, but she lived in Kirkwall now and had been for years. She didn't owe them her allegiance. What was Eamon hoping to get from her and why did _he_ need to be involved at all? Shaking his head, Aedan told Arnaud he could take his leave.

"If I might ask a question, Commander?" he said, his Orleasian accent somehow becoming thicker. He waited for Cousland to make the affirmative for him to go on. "Why are you asking about the Champion?"

"Have a nice rest of the evening, Cartier."

* * *

Hawke waited until she heard Bodahn and Orana both go to bed before she slipped out from beneath her covers and let her feet touch down on the carpet. Perhaps her entire day had been wasted, but that didn't mean her evening had to be a waste, too. Her mabari, Rebel, whined disapprovingly as Hawke tiptoed around him. "Quiet," she hushed him, giving him a quick scratch behind his ears. "I'll be back before anyone knows I'm gone." Even her hound didn't believe that.

The walk down her stairway was a slow one; her stitches made sure of that. She hurt _everywhere, _but if she had to spend one more minute in bed she'd scream. Now she had to decide where she was going off to. The Hanged Man was out. If Varric or Isabela saw her they'd get Aveline or Fenris to drag her right back to bed. Hawke gingerly pulled on her boots once she made it out to Hightown. She was still thinking on where to go. All she knew was she wanted to _drink_. Quite a bit. And without anyone telling her she was in no shape to be out and about.

"Andraste's ass, Hawke. You look bloody _awful_."

The mage whirled around to see who had caught her outside. She relaxed at the sight of her old boss, Meeran. "Oh. It's _you_." She straightened up and instantly regretted it. Her ribs were protesting her every move.

Meeran's dark grey brows furrowed in irritation, an expression he had worn quite often when she had been working for him. "Of _course_ it's me, Hawke. And don't expect me to call you "Champion". I knew your name when nobody else bloody cared to. Remember that."

She chuckled. "Right." A thought hit her, which was followed by a wicked smile moving across her face. "Where are you off to, Meeran? Going to drink or whore yourself out?"

"Both," was his too honest reply.

"Well, I'll join you for the first part. I think you owe me a drink or two. Or possibly seven. We'll decide that later." Hawke grinned up at him, waiting for his answer.

Meeran grumbled something about snarky Fereldens. He said to her, "What makes you think I owe you a drink?"

Hawke didn't smile that time. "I _could_ list all the times I saved your unshapely ass _or_ we could just get to drinking." She crossed her arms stiffly. "Your choice."

"We drink."

That didn't take him long. Hawke followed him to the Blooming Rose, grateful that her mother wasn't there to see them. She asked Meeran about the Red Iron until he cut her off with his own, rather direct question. "Why aren't you out drinking with your weird friends?"

That was definitely not something she wished to discuss with anyone, especially not with _Meeran_ of all people. But the answer left her lips anyway. "They think I should spend my time licking my wounds. I'm surprised Aveline hasn't posted guards outside my house to keep me from escaping."

"It doesn't seem they know you all that well." Meeran walked right up to the bar to order their drinks. Hawke was having trouble just getting past the door. As soon as they had entered the brothel she had heard excited cries of "Champion" and "it's Hawke!" At this rate all of Kirkwall would know she was there before morning. She managed to elbow her way past the throng with only leaving a few broken noses and bruises behind her.

"_Ale_. I need ale." Hawke clawed at Meeran's sleeve until he shoved a pint into her hands.

She was allowed to drink in peace, for awhile. Hearing her name amongst the patrons' whispers _was_ a little unnerving. Thankfully, the more she drank the less she focused on their chatter. When Meeran spoke next she nearly spit out her drink.

"D'you remember when I asked if your mother was single? You broke my jaw."

Hawke glanced sideways at him, chuckling. "She was _so_ out of your league. I was doing you a favor before you embarrassed yourself. That and my mother hated you."

Meeran took a pitcher from one of the girls and refilled Hawke's drink. "I realize your mother wasn't my biggest fan, Hawke, but no one deserved to go out like that." Hawke's posture stiffened visibly. "I heard the bastard had an apprentice who the guards let get away. The Red Iron wouldn't make that mistake. You of all people should know that."

Looking morosely down at her drink, she asked, "How much'll that cost me? And...can I help?"

"Buy the drinks next time: we'll call it even. And we wouldn't let anyone else kill him, Hawke."

"_Next_ time? Like I just can't wait to hang out with you again," she muttered, setting her drink down even though it was doing wonders for the pain.

Meeran watched her stare at her empty cup. "You don't feel like drinking anymore."

"No, I feel like drinking _more_."

* * *

When Nathaniel told Aedan that the King's Guard had been sighted, he took a few bottles down from the cabinets where he stored his spirits. He wasn't a big drinker at all, but he was going to need it to deal with Eamon. Aedan ordered Nathaniel to the front of the Keep. "Right, Commander. The King will just love being greeted by a _Howe_."

"He's being greeted by a Warden. Now go." He had decided to wait in his office. There was no doubt that they'd end up there eventually for the talk and Aedan wanted to speed things along. Sure enough Eamon and Alistair both entered his office; Eamon looking as imperious as ever and Alistair looking simply pleased to be away from court. Aedan moved out to meet them, taking a quick knee in front of Alistair. It was still an odd thing, kneeling before someone that often forgot to change his socks. "My king. Arl," he stood up, acknowledging them both.

"Warden," Eamon responded tersely.

That grated on his nerves a tad. He answered it coolly. "Add a "_commander_" after that and _then_ you'll be addressing me correctly." Aedan noticed the Arl turn an unnatural color and hid a smile skillfully.

Before Eamon could have a chance to respond, Alistair cut in and saved them all from another awkward show down. "Aedan! You're looking...Well, the _Keep_ looks good. Less darkspawn blood around than my last visit. The smell has improved _tremendously_-"

Aedan stopped him, saying, "All right, Alistair. I'll be nice. Just tell me what this-" He waved the letter in question around. "-is about."

Alistair spread out his hands as if in apology. "Ah, _well_. I might mention that I had mentioned that this sort of thing wasn't your sort of thing."

Whatever _that_ meant. Aedan was forced to turn to the Arl for an explanation. Eamon slowly took off his riding gloves, tossing them on Aedan's desk. "The nobles in Kirkwall are hosting a banquet for their Champion, that Hawke woman. She's Ferelden and we should therefore send an ambassador to deliver His Majesty's congratulations and gratitude. You're the most suitable by far. You're highborn _and_ you're well known, even in the Free Marches. You will go and present her with some sort of boon. A sword or shield from the royal armory."

"I thought she was a _mage_. What would she want a sword for?" Eamon was asking him to attend some stuffed shirt affair? He couldn't think of anything he'd like less. "Surely just a letter would have sufficed? There's no reason to keep this all hushed up."

"But there is," Eamon corrected him. "We want her to spy for Ferelden. And you're to make certain that happens."

* * *

"_Hawke_."

Meeran, Hawke, and a few other Red Iron mercs had moved from the Blooming Rose's main bar to one of the side rooms. Only Hawke bothered to find the source of this new voice. "Aveline?" Hawke turned from the table, looking rather startled at the sight of her large, armored friend in the Blooming Rose. Her expression turned sour. "Have you been _spying_ on me?"

The Captain of the Guard crossed her arms, frowning as Hawke poured herself another drink. She sent an especially stern glare Meeran's direction. "You've just been named Champion. And you've never kept a low profile before. It was only a matter of time before one of us found you."

"Unless you're here to drink, Aveline, I'm going to have to say goodnight." Hawke turned back to watch Meeran arm wrestle the Red Iron's newest recruit. "I have good money on you, Meeran. Don't let me down now, you old jackass."

"Shut _up_, Hawke."

Hawke only laughed and then yelled as her ribs protested the unnecessary movement. "Oooh, that _hurt_." In the glass bottle she was getting her spirits from she caught her reflection for a moment. The left side of her face was one big bruise, purple and yellow and nasty. "Well, I've had worse days," she finally decided, touching the bruise with awe.

Hawke couldn't overlook the fact Aveline was being oddly quiet and was _not_ dragging her out of brothel by her hair. Not wanting to think too hard about it, Hawke poured herself more spirits. When she tried to take a drink, a clawed gauntlet covered the top of her mug and pushed it back down onto the table. "Hey, buddy. Hands _off_," she snarled and found herself looking up into a pair of familiar and very green eyes. Her usually eloquent tongue was at a loss for once. "Fenris? Well. Shit."


	2. Chapter 2: Hunger

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 2: **Hunger

**A/N:** So I'm nearly finished reading David Gaider's _Asunder_ and I've realized there's a templar named Arnaud. He's a minor character, but I wish I would have known what his name was before I named my Orleasian Warden that. Ah, well. At least I know I picked a name that an Orleasian would actually have. Anyway, this chapter is Hawke heavy, but it'll even out later.

Those of you who are following this..._you're awesome._

* * *

Hawke was grateful that Meeran and the other Red Iron mercenaries were too busy with their own drinking and whoring to notice the little scene playing out in front of them. Fenris still had a hand over her drink and was glaring down at her quite impressively. She glared right back at him, striving for the same level of grim disapproval that he had. It didn't quite work; Hawke just couldn't mimic that angry downward tilt of his eyebrows. "Well," she finally said through gritted teeth. "You got here fast. Did you just happen to be in the neighborhood? I didn't realize your late night brooding session allowed for a midnight stroll." She was being unnecessarily snarky, she knew that. The words tumbled out regardless.

Fenris was oddly cool. He didn't take her bait; he simply looked around the room, eying the company Hawke had chosen to surround herself with. His mouth remained a fine, thin line. "Are you ready to go?"

Hawke blinked at him uncertainly. She hadn't expected _that_ incredibly civil reaction. What she had expected was for Fenris to storm in, pace a bit while insulting the company she was with, and _then_ he'd tell her she had to leave. What he was doing now, being rational, had thrown her off.

Her first instinct was to say "no" until she overheard that Meeran had won the arm wrestling contest that had been going on at the table behind her. She had actually been betting against him. With the coin she had forgotten to bring with her. "Yes. Yes, let's go." If Aveline or Fenris were surprised at her sudden willingness to leave they didn't bother to show it. Instead they helped her limp out of the Blooming Rose and into the Hightown night. That was where Aveline parted ways from the rest of their little party. But only after she told Fenris to "look after her".

Hawke quickly rounded on Fenris the second they couldn't hear Aveline's clunking boots anymore. She snapped at him, her eyes flashing. "_Despite_ what you all may think, I don't need anyone swooping in to save me from the big, bad Red Iron."

"Because _Meeran_ has _nothing_ but your best interests at heart." Fenris spat off to the side, his previous calm now long gone. "If you must go out try spending your time with someone who _isn't_ likely to stab you in the back."

He wasn't very wrong there. "Okay, so I make bad life decisions. I thought everyone already knew that about me." She kicked at the ground just for something to do. Her head was beginning to hurt. "I mean, I dragged my baby brother into the_Deep Roads. _That right there is a prime example of poor decision making."

"_Hawke_," Fenris called out to her quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of those that prowled Hightown during the dark.

"No, no, no," she stopped him right there. She didn't want him to hopelessly try to make her feel better. Not when she was acting like a bitter Orleasian spinster. "I'm drunk, Fenris. I don't know what's coming out of my mouth. And for your information I _like_ Meeran. He is a shady son of a mabari bitch and he's only just recently stopped looking at my ass, but he owns it." And Meeran was the one who had pointed her in Anso's direction, instead of taking the job himself. Maybe because he had felt bad about using her and her brother. She liked to think that. Regardless of Meeran's possible motives, he was the reason she had even _met_ Fenris. And for that she couldn't help but feel an odd liking for Meeran, even though the man was sort of an ass. "Anyway, I'm leaving so I can be sick in the peace and comfort of my own home."

"That's a lovely image."

Hawke could only manage a short, tired laugh for that. "Don't think about it too hard. And don't follow me."

"We live in the same direction."

If Hawke heard his answer, she gave no sign. She had turned herself around quickly and made he way slowly back to the estate. Fenris waited a few minutes before he followed her, his bare feet silent on the stone they walked on. He knew that she knew he was behind her, but her pace neither slowed down so he could catch up nor did it speed up so she could lose him.

For once there were no criminals or raiders popping out of the shadows at her and Hawke couldn't have been more relieved. The last thing she needed was to be attacked and have to rely on Fenris, who was still behind her, to come and save her currently useless ass.

Her estate came into view not a moment too soon. She opened the door, locking it behind her and trying not wake anyone. Especially not her mabari. Being tackled with affection by her dog did not sound like a good time.

Rebel was up in her room sound asleep, kicking and growling in his dreams. Hawke knelt and scratched him under his chin. "Get the rabbit, boy. Go chase that rabbit." Rebel's kicking doubled in speed before he gave up the hunt and rolled over onto his belly.

It took Hawke a full minute to stand up without hurting herself. As she was standing, a glint of light caught her eye and she went to investigate. The tall, ridiculously ornate mirror her mother had bought for her a few birthdays past stood out to her. It suddenly occurred to her why. She hadn't looked at herself since her duel so the extent of her injuries had remained a mystery to her. Perhaps now was the time to change that. Hawke snapped her fingers and the torches around her room lit up. That small bit of magic cheered her up immensely, though she couldn't ignore the fatigue that quickly followed. Stepping in front of the mirror, she took her reflection in.

"Oh."

She had known her face was bruised, probably from when the Arishok had headbutted her and caused her to skid across the floor. The right corner of her mouth was split open and was only just beginning to heal. Another scar. She was just racking 'em up, wasn't she?

Hawke shrugged out of her shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Forget the scar on her lip, the one that'd be on her torso was going to be _much_ more impressive. The long, red wound ranged from her clavicle to just under her ribs. How she had managed to walk after that, she didn't know. How she had killed the Arishok after that was even less clear.

Maybe the wound should have made her feel vulnerable. It didn't.

It made her realize she was not someone to be underestimated.

* * *

"You want Hawke to _spy_ for Ferelden?" Aedan calmly repeated the information Eamon had just dropped on him. "I think you underestimate this woman's loyalty."

"Her _loyalty_ to Ferelden is the reason we need her-"

"_No_," Aedan straightened up, throwing his shoulders back as he did so. "This woman was labeled an apostate by Ferelden's Templars. In Kirkwall the Templars call her _Champion_. Where do _you_ think her loyalty lies?" He picked up Eamon's riding gloves off of his desk and tossed them back to their owner. "I'll go to this banquet if I absolutely must, but ask this woman to spy on her own city? That I won't do."

Eamon wasn't pleased by that response. "Your King is asking you to-"

"_Alistair_ hasn't asked me to do anything, Arl. Not yet." Aedan took a seat at his desk, wishing he had a more organized filing system. The piles of paper everywhere were less than stately.

"Aedan, perhaps _spy_ isn't the best term." Alistair had picked up one of the broken shields Aedan still needed to send to the armory for repairs. "You know Ferelden isn't at its strongest. We don't have an extensive spy network like Orlais. It's looking like we're going to need one."

Aedan couldn't pretend like he didn't already know all that. Even hold up in his Keep he managed to keep an eye on the Kingdom's latest problems, just in case Alistair needed an ally. Finally he said, his voice steady and sincere, "As my King commands. It will be done. I'll head to Amaranthine as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Aedan. And, hey, maybe you'll be surrounded by Orleasians, but you'll miss our Ferelden winter."

Alistair's smile was met icily. "I _like_ the cold."

"Of course you do." Alistair shrugged, putting the dented shield back where it belonged. "Eamon and I are just going to walk the rounds, talk to the men and women a bit, and then we'll be out of what little hair you have left."

"Ha." Aedan gave them each a nod; he wasn't kneeling _twice_. Alistair waved farewell in a very un-kingly manner. Eamon followed him out, leaving the door open behind him. The suddenly open door gave Aedan's mabari, Moira, the chance to charge inside. Aedan rushed to try to put all the papers on his desk away, but it was too late. Moira jumped a top his desk, scattering paper and quills everywhere. The hound dropped onto Aedan's lap next, barking and slobbering until Aedan gave her a quick scratch.

"Ah. Arl Eamon said you'd be in here." A man entered, knocking on the door frame as he stepped inside. "I haven't seen you in a long time, little brother."

"_Fergus_?" Aedan had never guessed that his own brother would be riding with the King. Moira got excited and, using his lap as a launching pad, jumped at his brother. Fergus gave the dog that same sad smile he managed only when he felt he absolutely needed to and knelt down to give the dog his full attention. "Hello, girl."

"That's my war dog you're petting there. If she bites it's your own damn fault." Aedan watched his brother closely. Fergus had lost more at the hands of Arl Howe than Aedan had. His wife, his son... Fergus usually avoided Vigil's Keep. Nathaniel Howe shared too strong of a physical resemblance to his father for Fergus to feel comfortable in his presence. Aedan told him sternly, "You look thin."

"So do you," was his brother's quick reply.

"_I_ was in the Deep Roads. There's only so much food one can bring without taking a packhorse along. And horses do _not_ like the Deep Roads. Anyway, what's _your_ excuse? You have the entire kitchen staff waiting to cook for you." Aedan gave a sharp whistle and Moira raised her head high, waiting for orders. "Moira, go bother Oghren." She ran off at once, nearly knocking Fergus down as she went by.

"The food's not the same. Nan, she's...not...there anymore." Fergus barely finished the sentence. He let his brother awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. "It'd be easier, you know, if you came around a bit more. Or at all."

Aedan looked down at him coldly. "You know why I can't go back there."

"Things have settled down," Fergus protested, his blue eyes pleading. "Perhaps this time-"

"_No_." Aedan felt guilty about refusing his brother's only request, but he could not go back to Highever. For reasons he did not care to dwell over. Aedan nodded toward the door. "Perhaps we both should get something to eat. Our cook isn't Nan, either, but he's fair enough for what he has to work with."

Fergus agreed, leading the way out and allowing his brother to see how much grey had slipped into his hair over the years. Aedan would have remarked on it, but his stomach growled and stopped all thought that wasn't about food.

* * *

Hawke wondered briefly if Rebel was intelligent enough to make her a sandwich. This was _so_ typical of herself. As soon as Hawke had finished undressing for bed, her stomach had made a series of growls that she swore should have woken up all of Kirkwall. If anyone had heard her stomach's pleas, however, none of them had rushed to her rescue with a steak or bit of stew.

Irritated and starving, Hawke dragged herself out of her bed and headed for the door when the growling got louder. She nearly hushed her own stomach before she realized it was her mabari making all the noise and not herself. "What is it, boy?" Hawke forced her torches to glow a little brighter, giving her enough light to see a figure move gracefully out of the shadows and into her bedroom.

"You have a smart courser, dog lord. But I had anticipated that." The figure, a man, pulled something off his belt and threw it at the ground in front of them. Whatever he had thrown exploded into a burst of green, toxic gas and it quickly filled Hawke's small room.

Hawke cursed, stepping backwards and covering her nose and mouth with the back of her hand. She could hear Rebel, not knowing what was going on, gagging on the fumes somewhere to her left. Her dog cried for her and it killed Hawke to be unable to help. She knew she wasn't going to be able to physically overpower her foe; she'd have to make like the Dread Wolf and out trick him.

Unable to see though the smoke, Hawke willed the torchlight to vanish, leaving all of them in complete darkness. It was meant to give her the upper hand, seeing as she would know her way around her own home better than this intruder would. It backfired. Hawke stumbled over Rebel on her way out her bedroom door. She made for the stairs, running blindly and hoping Rebel was trying to make it out as well. Hawke never saw the trip wire on her stairway. It caught on her bare foot and set off the explosives the bastard had attached to her century old stone wall. Hawke was thrown to the side by the explosion, right over the railing of her staircase. She hit the floor hard and her face bounced off the stone, causing her vision to swim.

Hawke didn't remember the next few moments that passed. Her new head wound made sure of that. How she sat up she wasn't sure, but Hawke was able to watch the assassin slowly strut down what was left of her stairs. The railing with Isabela's infamous carvings was mostly gone, but that wasn't important right then. Instead Hawke took slow stock of her injuries, feeling her hairline for any serious head wounds. She found one. Already her forehead was slick with blood, blood that would soon obscure her vision. A few of her stitches had been ripped out as well. Anders would be less than pleased.

Hawke waited for her adrenaline to kick in, for her fear to give her strength. That didn't happen. She realized she had no fear. Why wasn't she afraid? Unless something happened quickly to turn the battle in her favor, she was going to _die_. The assassin pulled out a short sword and waved it around in order to recapture her attention. She examined the blade for a clue to who its owner could be. It was plain and cheaply made. That was really insulting. He was going to kill her with that? She'd bet it didn't even have a _name_. She'd be damned if she was killed with a blade that wasn't named Kinslayer or Widowmaker or even Claude. Something.

Evidently Rebel shared her thoughts because her mabari flew at the man, his teeth weakly snapping at the assassin's calves. Hawke winced when he kicked her dog full in the stomach with his metal covered boots. Rebel, already weak from the poison, fell over and stayed down.

"You shouldn't have left yourself alone, _Champion_."

She couldn't tear her eyes away from her deathly still dog, even though imminent danger was descending the stairs. Suddenly she realized why she wasn't afraid. Laughter erupted and she let it out gladly. "You think you're _safe_ because I'm _alone_?" He stopped at that, confused and angry. His face flushed red; she could feel his blood flowing under his skin. And then she could feel it boiling.

The blade fell to the floor and its owner lie convulsing on the ground, his mouth open in a silent scream. His back arched and relaxed, over and over, as if that would help with the pain. The spell didn't last long; Hawke's mana was still drained from her fight with the Arishok and she was too wounded to rely on her own blood to fuel her spells. She could, however, use his blood to heal herself _or_ someone else.

"B-blood mage." He stared down at her wildly with his boring, mud colored eyes. "The dwarf didn't say-"

"He doesn't know." Now she knew what had brought this assassin here; _glory_. Varric loved to talk her up and it had attracted trouble for her before. Everyone wanted to be the one to kill "the Hawke". What would that get them, though? Bragging rights? A mild sense of accomplishment? "I'm only a blood mage when I'm _alone_."

Her spell wore off and he was able to get to his feet now. She couldn't stop him or even move as he stormed toward her. His thick fingers went for her throat, ignoring her futile attempts to push him away. He spat on her. "_Look_ at you. You can't even stand! Whatever you did, it didn't help you."

"It wasn't meant to help _me_."

The look on his face was bloody priceless as he realized dimly what was about to happen. Newly revived from Hawke's blood spell, Rebel launched himself from the top of the stairs. Hawke felt the pressure around her throat lessen and as soon as it did she used her forearms to crawl away.

The assassin was screaming like a babe. He _really_ shouldn't have kicked her dog. Rebel could hold a grudge.

Hawke tried to wipe her face, but she only managed to smear the blood. Eventually the screaming ceased all together. Hawke could sense his life leave him; his remaining energy was ebbing off him in waves. She drank it in. The almost assassin's appearance had nearly torn down her home, but it was good for one thing. His death allowed her to use a spell that her father's old books called "grave robber".

She needed to be able to move so she used his blood first to close up the reopened wound on her chest. Her now broken ribs were next. She couldn't fix them entirely, but it was a major improvement. Well, it was enough to try standing. Hawke got up, stumbled about like a Lowtown drunk, and immediately went to check on her dog.

Rebel had benefited considerably from her first blood spell, though it wasn't quite enough. The poison from earlier had got to him and Hawke didn't have the skill to draw it out. She needed Anders, and quickly. At this time of night he was probably at The Hanged Man, chatting with Varric. Hawke picked up her dog and placed him in her study. "Hold on, boy," she whispered hoarsely. "Just stay still." She received a quiet bark for an answer.

Hawk limped upstairs and held her breath before she ran into her room. She ran to the windows and opened every last one of them, hoping to clear out the poisonous vapors. She grabbed a pair of black breeches, a white linen shirt, and one of her dark, hooded cloaks. It wasn't until she made it back down her partially demolished stairs that she realized she had left her boots in her room. She really didn't have the strength, time, nor the patience to go all the way back up to retrieve them. She'd simply be Dalish for a night.

Once she dressed and weakly laughed about how she had fought and killed the assassin while practically naked, she pulled her hood down over her face. She wasn't sure how bad she looked and she didn't need anyone else "trying the Champion". Unrecognized, she ran through Hightown and then Lowtown. Her staff was back at her mansion; she only had a small dagger on her. Her plan was, if she ran into trouble, that all she'd have to do was take off her hood and let them see her face. They'd soon be running for somewhere less frightening, the Tevinter Imperium, the Deep Roads, the Void... _Anywhere_ else.

The Hanged Man was busy, filled with patrons that already had a little too much to drink if one could judge from their drunken singing.

* * *

"What are they singing?" Fergus seemed intrigued by something at the far end of the Keep's mess hall.

Aedan glanced behind him, watching the commotion with a short laugh. "They were Dalish before they were Wardens. I couldn't tell you what they're saying." That answer was only partially true; Aedan recognized a few of the song's lyrics. He just didn't feel like translating. He needed to talk with his brother. "Fergus, why are you traveling with the King's Guard?"

His brother ran a hand through his hair. "They came to Highever, wanting to know if I thought you'd comply with their little scheme."

Of course. "And what did you tell them?"

"That you're a Cousland. You will do your duty for Ferelden. I also told them that _you'd_ decide what Ferelden needed from you and no one else would ever convince you otherwise."

Aedan had to smile at that. _This_ was the brother he remembered. _This_ was the man Arl Rendon Howe had stolen from him. "And they asked you to come along anyway?"

"I volunteered."

Aedan halted their conversation while one of the servants came with their food, a good, hearty Ferelden stew. It was bland and spiceless, but so was most Ferelden cuisine. It was also filling and warm and that was the important thing. Once the food was served, Aedan motioned for him to continue. "Why would you do that?"

"I...I need to talk to you...about something."

"How evasive." Aedan swallowed some stew and grimaced. "It's bad, then? What is it? Is there something happening in Highever?"

"No. Well, there's talk. Questions being asked." Fergus picked at his stew, stirring the potatoes around listlessly. "About who the next Teryn will be."

Aedan's brow crinkled. "If I'm still alive, it'll be me." He looked down from his brother and into his bowl. It was empty of any meat, potatoes, vegetables and now was only a simple broth. He brought the bowl to his lips and drank the rest of it down without shame. "So what's the problem?"

"Who's going to be Teryn after you. _That's_ the problem."

Those words knocked the wind out of him faster than any ogre ever could. "_What_?"

Fergus spread his hands and then tore at his hair with them. "I don't want to ask you this. I know this," he gestured to the walls around them, "is where you belong. Where your duty lies. But our family _needs_ an heir. And I can't..."

Aedan pulled Fergus's hands away before he could do any lasting damage to that long mane of his. "Fergus, brother, would it be so bad if you remarried?" He winced as he said that and felt even worse when he saw the look Fergus gave him when he finally raised his head.

"I tried. I wouldn't ask you to do this if I couldn't do it myself."

The noise of the mess hall faded away as Aedan considered the situation. He had known Fergus had never truly recovered from the death, no, _murder_ of his wife and child. The idea of marrying again after what had happened the first time... Aedan could see why Fergus was having issues. He asked Fergus, though he expected he already knew the answer, "What would you have of me?"

Fergus took his time answering, as though he was still deciding what to do. "You must marry a member of the nobility and produce an heir."

* * *

Sienna ran through the halls of Vigil's Keep and out of the main entrance. She waved to the poor sods that had pulled guard duty in such awful weather. Having lived in the Circle as long as she could remember, she really didn't know what it was like to be cold. And Ferelden was known for little else. When one thought of the country they thought of mabari, turnips, and the _cold_.

She ran around the Keep, glancing up at the guard towers until she found the one that that Orlesian was supposed to be in. Sienna set her staff against the side of the tower before she jumped up and grabbed the nearest window ledge. She had climbed towers before. In fact, she had done little else while she was housed in the Ferelden Circle. The mages were locked in at night and her best and only friend there had lived three floors above her. Sienna wasn't foolish enough to risk sneaking out into the halls to visit him and risk running into the templars. Climbing out her window and then clawing her way three floors up was much, _much_ safer.

Vigil's Keep was easier to climb than the Circle had been; the outside was broken and old which provided for more handholds. Sienna was up at the top of the guard tower in less than twenty minutes. She climbed through the nearest opening, dropping gracefully onto the floor. Arnaud was half asleep at his post when she popped in to see him. He looked at her twice before he screamed. She backed up a step. "Hello to you, too."

Arnaud started cursing her in his strange language. Finally he settled down enough to remember what country he was in. "Are you out of your _mind_?" He stomped over. "Or are you possessed?"

"Some claim that I'm possessed by a demon of mass seduction, but that's never been proven." Sienna sat on the floor and stretched her legs. "Anyway, I have news."

"Why didn't you just take the _stairs_?"

"Do you know how _old_ those stairs are? It's a bloody death trap." Sienna waved a hand at him dismissively. "Just listen-"

"And why are you talking to _me_?"

She rolled her eyes, tired of his interruptions. "I'm new here. _I_ don't have friends. _You_ don't have friends. So we're stuck with each other. That's how it worked in the Circle, at least. _Now_ can I talk?"

Arnaud shrugged noncommittally. "Sure. Fine."

"Thank the Maker," she growled and kept going. "I was in the mess hall and I have this eavesdropping spell I invented some time ago-"

His snort was unappreciated. "That seems a deserving use of your talents. How _does_ the Circle get on without you?"

Sienna kicked at his legs viciously. "They have less dead templars so they consider it a fair trade. _Now let me speak!_" She waited a minute to make certain he would not interrupt her another time. "I overheard the Warden-Commander speaking with his brother." She paused for dramatic effect. "The Commander has to _marry_ and produce a child. All to carry on the Cousland family name." Laughing excitedly, she asked him, "Who do you think it'll be? Who'll be _Lady_ Warden-Commander?"

Arnaud was looking at her oddly. "I actually had a talk with the Warden-Commander recently. And because of the little conversation that we had I have the strange feeling that I already _know_."


	3. Chapter 3: Frustration

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 3: **Frustration

**A/N:** I've gone back {or I will go back} to the previous chapters and have made it easier to tell when the POV gets switched. Ghosthands pointed that out in their review. Thanks!

* * *

The Warden-Commander was in a terrible mood. Everyone that knew better stayed out of his way as he furiously paced the halls. Vigil's Keep's security had tightened considerably since the King's Guard had arrived. Anyone caught slacking, and Aedan did catch quite a few of them sleeping as he roamed the halls, were told they had just earned every Warden in the Keep a special punishment. They were _not_ told what the it was or when the punishment would take place, however. They waited anxiously for further orders.

After the King and his guard had left Aedan Cousland had announced that he was doubling their daily training exercises. What was worse was the fact that he also informed them that he would be leading them himself. This was met with a chorus of groans and complaints, along with a few tears. Regular training was strenuous at best. With Cousland in charge half of them would be puking their guts out before noon. They was no complaining, though. Cousland did all their drills right with them, and with heavy plate on. They had to keep silent because their Commander was puking right there with them.

Only Arnaud and Sienna knew what had sparked this latest project. When the Commander was pissed, he found a positive outlet. And if he couldn't find one he _made_ one.

It was all good and well that Aedan like to keep busy, but did he have to involve the rest of them? Arnaud grumbled those thoughts out loud as he did his fiftieth pushup. Sienna was beside him, still on push up number thirty. He didn't imagine the Templars made the mages do much vigorous exercise. _He_ was only keeping up because of his old training as a Chevalier. "I'm too old for this," he moaned the cliché as his nose touched the ground lightly. Sienna somehow managed to giggle between breaths. Maker, the mage was clinging to him like a leech. It didn't seem likely that he'd be able to get rid of her.

"I know he's pissed about getting married, but can't he take up knitting or crocheting? Or, better yet, he could find a tavern wench and-"

Arnaud burst out laughing and almost couldn't lift himself off the ground. The idea of the Warden-Commander nonchalantly walking into one of Amaranthine's taverns and trying to seduce one of the barmaids was ridiculous. Perhaps this mage wouldn't be such a pain.

"Something _amusing_, Cartier?" The Commander had broken off from the drill so that he could monitor everyone's progress. "I thought I had recruited a _Chevalier. _Right now it seems I have an Orleasian court jester on my hands. Well," he said, picking Arnaud up by the back of his shirt. "If you can find such humor down in the mud I can't _imagine_ what jokes you'll discover on the Point's staircase." Arnaud blanched; the Point was Vigil's Keep's tallest tower. Cousland gave him a light push in its direction. "Run up and down the staircase until you've stopped laughing."

"Oh, I believe I've stopped laughing already."

The Commander, surprisingly, did not believe him. "Go. And take Warden Sienna with you. I saw her giggling earlier." He turned to the rest of the Wardens, shouting, "If any of the rest of you want to follow in their footsteps you can still catch up with King Alistair. Perhaps _he's_ in need of a jester for I have no use of one here."

Arnaud didn't want to hear the rest of it. He jogged to the Point's base, not waiting to see if Sienna was following him. He should have known better. She was young, she _wanted_ what was normally considered unwanted attention. But he was over forty. He couldn't deal with such nonsense like running up an impossibly tall staircase.

She was better at running than she was at pushups. Sienna caught up to him quickly and grabbed his arm once they reached the top of the Point. "Now that we can talk-"

"Talk?" Arnaud repeated, gasping. "I can barely _breathe_."

She was undeterred. "I wanted to discuss the Commander's situation."

Arnaud growled at her. "Leave it be. He doesn't need our help in the matter and he definitely doesn't need us gossiping."

"But you're _Orleasian_. Surely you must want to play matchmaker for the Commander?" Sienna looked up at him expectantly. Arnaud just stared back at her, open-mouthed.

"That's rascist. You're a rascist." He started back down the stairs. "Not all Orleasians like muddling in the love affairs of others, you bloody turnip."

"Hey!" She stumbled down after him. "He needs help! Can you imagine him trying to court anyone? _Here, love, I brought you back this darkspawn skull! Won't it look lovely above the fireplace?_" Her impersonation of the Commander was less than flattering.

Arnaud rolled his eyes and kept going downwards. "It's nice that you're concerned, but what makes you think he'll come to _us_?" He was suddenly regretting that second helping of eggs.

* * *

After training was finished, Aedan went to his office feeling very unsatisfied. And hungry. The morning drills had caused himself and half of his men to vomit what little breakfast they had dared to eat. Now that his stomach had finally settled down it was begging to be filled again.

When Nathaniel finally turned up Aedan was working on his third plate of breads, fruits, and cheeses. He tossed an apple at the archer, saying, "It's about time you showed. We need to talk."

Nathaniel ducked under the thrown apple out of reflex before he realized Aedan had meant for him to catch it. Recovering, he smirked, "I heard there's going to be wedding bells soon."

Aedan didn't join in the joke. He told Nathaniel seriously, "Don't remind me."

"Wait. That rumor's _true_?"

"Unfortunately."

Nathaniel seemed amused by his misery. "Ah, _that's_ why you're torturing the recruits. But you can't tell me you've never been in this position before."

Aedan shrugged. "I haven't. Since Fergus was already married and had a child my parents didn't see the need to rush me into an arranged marriage. They did try, once."

"What did you do the the girl?" Nathaniel assumed the fault was entirely Aedan's. He was right to do so.

"If she ever starts speaking to me again I'll let you know."

There was a bit of an awkward silence after that. Finally Aedan decided to put things into perspective. "Okay, the marriage issue is troubling, but I have other things to contend with first. Like the Champion's banquet."

Nathaniel turned thoughtful. "You know, there will be a lot of nobles there. At the banquet, I mean. It'd be a good place to look for your bride. Though, stay away from the Kirkwall nobles—they tend to be crazy. And the Orleasian ladies are...Orleasian. That just leaves Ferelden nobles, really."

"It's probably better that way," Aedan admitted. He started cleaning up his desk and then promptly gave up on it. "Oh, Nathaniel, one more thing... You'll be taking over as Commander while I'm gone. I thought that'd be obvious, but just in case in needs to be said there it is."

The archer wasn't so certain. "Are you sure about that?"

"I don't even know how you could ask me that. You're the only one here suited for command. Just do what I would do."

"As you say."

Aedan groaned. "I was kidding. Do as _you_ would do. Anyway, I need to think of a suitable gift to present the Champion. I'm not bringing her a sword or a shield. Everyone will be doing that cliché. This sword was forged in the fires of a volcano by who even _cares_?"

"The Champion is a mage, is she not? Then why don't you consult a mage?"

"That's a start," Aedan agreed with a sigh. "How many mages do we have?"

Nathaniel snorted. "Not many. The Templars don't let us in the Circle anymore. Mostly because of you."

"Maker, conscript _one_ murdering mage and you never hear the end of it." Aedan sank in his chair so far it took him awhile to get up. Perhaps he _should_ have toned down the drills a tad. "Fine. Do you know where..." It took him a minute. "Sienna! That's it. D'you know where she would be?"

"This is just a guess, but probably still running up those stairs."

"Why would she be..." He remembered and promptly jumped up. "Damn. Poor sods. I'd best go collect them."

Nathaniel agreed with him completely. "Just follow the sounds of vomiting, Commander."

* * *

Hawke entered The Hanged Man to a lovely chorus of retching noises. She stepped lightly over the undigested mess, and the man who made it, and headed up to Varric's private suite. She caught a few curious stares, but that was only because her hood hid her face. _Cover up your face and suddenly everyone wants to know who you are_, she thought, pausing before Varric's doorway. She could hear Isabela's gaudy laughter and couldn't help but grin. Her lip split open again from the effort.

Without a word, Hawke walked into Varric's room and yanked the hood off of her face. Isabela saw her first, glancing behind her as she took a long drink. She shrieked and nearly choked on her ale. "_Hawke_? Is that _you_? Why are you dripping blood?"

Anders and Varric snapped to attention at that. Anders almost turned over his chair in his hurry to get to her. "What happened? Are you hurt? Let me-"

Hawke grabbed Anders's arm and shoved his hand away before his healing magic could touch her. "Anders, my dog. Please, go to my estate and help him. He's been poisoned."

Laying down his cards and revealing a rather poor hand, Varric told her, "Hawke, I've seen Legion corpses that looked better than you do now. You need to tell us what's going on."

"What's going on is that I'll kick Anders's ass if he lets my dog die." Hawke used Anders's arm to throw him towards the door. "Go. I'm fine. This blood is mostly someone else's."

Anders looked as though he wanted to argue, but Hawke's blood smeared glare was enough to get him moving. Sighing in relief, Hawke sat down next to Isabela, who was still staring at her. "Uh," Hawke asked Varric sheepishly, "Can I get a bowl of water? And a few towels? I didn't have time to..." Suddenly she sat up straight and glanced about in a panic. "Fenris isn't here, is he?"

"Lanky, you mean? No, he isn't here. Such a shame that." Isabela chuckled, taking out one of her handkerchiefs. She dampened a corner with her mouth and tried to clean up Hawke's face. "Hawke, this is going to take a bit more elbow grease than I thought. And maybe some soap."

"I'll have someone bring soap and water," Varric offered. He added, slyly, "But only if I get the story."

"Why would I expect anything else?" Hawke laughed, which was an eerie sight at the moment. "And I'll gladly tell you what went down, but I'd appreciate it Varric if you wouldn't exaggerate this one. We don't need Kirkwall freaking out more than they need to."

Varric smirked. "You mean you don't need the _elf_ freaking out more than-"

"Do you want the tale or not?" Hawke demanded. The barmaid arrived with a pail of water that soon turned pink after Hawke plunged her hands into it. "We're going to need another one of these," she muttered.

It wasn't until Hawke had cleaned herself completely of all blood and muck that she revealed to Varric and Isabela what had happened. They both were interested in very different aspects.

"He nearly blew you up and you still defeated him?_ I _can't even make that sound plausible."

Isabela cut in swiftly, "You fought him _naked_?"

"_Almost_ naked," Hawke corrected her. "There's a slight difference." She shakily got to her feet and brushed herself off. "Now, I need to get back to check on my dog. Who wants to carry me back home?"

"_Literally_?"

There were no takers. Isabela and Varric both offered to escort her back to the estate, though. Hawke accepted the company gladly. She was in a hurry to see if Rebel was all right. It was really difficult to imagine him _not_ being fine. The Maker had taken enough from her. He could leave her dog be.

* * *

Moira sat at the base of the Point, barking every so often to remind Arnaud and Sienna to keep running. Sometimes it frightened Aedan when his dog attempted to steal his job. He jogged up to her and relieved her of her self-appointed duty. "Leave them be, girl. The cook's got a..."

Before Aedan could finish his sentence Moira was off, tearing her way to the kitchens at the slightest mention of a meal. If Anders was still with them the mage would have made some comment about Aedan being the same way. Oh, why hadn't he taken his bloody _cat_ with him? Commanding an entire keep was difficult enough without having a small and rather useless feline to contend with.

Aedan waited for Arnaud and Sienna to make it back down to the bottom before he ordered them to stop. They tried to salute and double over in pain at the same time, which was a sad sight. "At ease, Wardens," Aedan told them quickly. He didn't need them passing out before he got the chance to ask Sienna his question.

"What did you need, Commander?" Cartier was the first to recover.

"I'm here for Warden Sienna, actually," Aedan admitted and turned to the mage. "I find myself in need of a mage's expertise. I need to present the Champion of Kirkwall with a gift. What would you say would be appropriate?"

Aedan was confused by the triumphant look she shot Cartier. "Women love jewelry, Commander."

He didn't like that. "I'm getting a gift for a _Champion_, Warden. I want to get her something _useful_, as well as eloquent. Do you have any thoughts on that or am I wasting my time?"

"No, Commander. I'll think of something. Do we have an Enchanter on hand?"

"Of course. She's not as good as a dwarf I once knew was, but she'll do." Aedan looked down at Sienna curiously. "_What_ are we enchanting?"

She told him and he nodded approvingly. She warned him, "It may take some time to procure such an object, but it'll be done."

He took that into account. "Fine. Take a horse and do what you must." He dropped a fat coin purse into her hands. "That should take care of whatever you need. Meet us in Amaranthine before we take ship. The rest of us are leaving tomorrow at dawn."

"Yes, Commander."

Aedan made to leave and then turned back. "Warden Cartier, are you any good with horses?"

"Are you asking because I'm Orleasian?" Sienna kicked Cartier hard when he said that.

"I'm asking because you were a Chevalier. That is also Orleasian. I thought you were all raised on horseback."

"Not _all_ of us, but I was."

"Then I want you to come with. I'm taking a few of my household guard, and as competent as they are, they are no horsemen. And," he confessed sullenly, "Neither am I."

Cartier had no objections. "As you command."

"I do." Aedan nodded at them both and hoped he hadn't just made a horrible decision. He was ready to reenter the Keep and see about getting dessert when he heard shouting and fighting coming from the Keep's entrance. He grumbled and motioned to Cartier and Sienna both. "With me."

The Warden's guarding the door were trying their damnedest to keep a woman out without seriously hurting her. Each time they shoved her away she threw herself at them again. Aedan went in to rectify the situation. "Mistress! What in the name of the Maker are you doing?" He had hoped that throwing the name of the Maker in there would catch her attention. She looked like the crazy religious sort.

She whirled on him, pulling up her skirts out of the mud. "You! You took my daughter!"

Aedan squinted at her, but nothing jogged his memory. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're screaming about, Mistress. You'll have to give me a name." And that might not even help.

The woman was looking behind him. She pointed. "Her! That's my girl! I sent her to the Circle. They _promised_ me she'd be safe! And you took her away! To _rot_ in the Deep Roads!"

"Ah." Aedan stared back at Sienna, waiting for an answer. He had never seen the mage's eyes so lifeless and cold. She stepped up beside him.

"I was young when I was taken in by the Templars. I do not know this woman and do not care to. That is the truth, Commander." She finished rather cruelly, "She is no mother of mine."

"Should I have her escorted home?" Aedan had little experience in this. Anders had never quite forgiven his parents for letting him go so easily. The blood mage Jowan whom Aedan had met in Redcliffe had mentioned that his parents had thought he was an abomination and a sinful thing. If Sienna wished this woman thrown out he would not blame her.

"It is your decision, Commander. I wish to be kept out of it." She said something to Cartier in a whisper as she walked away, and he followed her, complaining, "Maker, I hope you don't want to talk about this."

Nodding to her as Sienna passed by, Aedan ordered the woman to be gently taken to the nearest village and then set loose. She shouted things at him while she was dragged away, curses that _he_ hadn't even heard before. It was an education, at least. And, what was worse, she was not wrong.

What did he give these men and women besides nightmares and an early death? Becoming a Warden had not been a choice for him. It had been an ultimatum. Join or die. It was a choice he had hated at the time and had not understood. And now what did he do? He found the desperate and abandoned and offered them that same choice, knowing that they could do nothing but accept. He stayed with the new recruits for days after they preformed the joining ritual, sitting by their bedside as they thrashed and pierced his heart with their silent screams. Going through the pain himself was one thing; it was hard to stand watching another go through it themselves.

In the end he could offer them little comfort. He woke them up and explained to them what they were seeing and that they'd be seeing it again. And again. And soon they'd be able to sleep through it and maybe even wake up one day without wishing they hadn't.

He had no skill at speeches, but he gave them his words nonetheless. There would never be a day when he felt that was enough.

* * *

"Stop! _Stop_. That's enough, boy!" Hawke tried to push Rebel off her but it was hopeless. She had to wait until Anders took pity on her and pulled her dog off her. Hawke laid back on her bed, breathing hard. "Thank you, Anders. My lungs and ribs appreciate it."

"Your dog is fine. Now can I heal you?" Anders didn't even wait to hear her answer. The room filled with his light blue healing magic until he was satisfied that she had gone from mostly dead to just moderately wounded. "There? Feel better?"

"I would if you weren't killing yourself trying to heal me." Hawke craned her neck so she could look at him in the eyes. "Why don't you stay here tonight? So you don't have to crawl all the way to Darktown," she added quickly, as if she needed a reason. A reason other than she didn't think she'd survive being blown up again.

Anders gave her that tired smile that was so like her father's. "Okay. I'll just be downstairs."

"I'll obviously be here," she returned. She waved to him, knowing there would be no sleep tonight. Not while she was so _angry_.

She would not be so defenseless, so reliant on those she loved again.


	4. Chapter 4: Discomfort

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 4: **Discomfort

**A/N:** I wish I could think of clever chapter titles.

* * *

Aedan was miserable—beyond miserable. The ride to Amaranthine had been easy enough. Warden Cartier had lived up to the Orleasian stereotype. He had a way with horses that no Ferelden could match. And Aedan had to admit (though he did so begrudgingly) that riding beat walking. Even if it caused him to walk bowlegged for a good ten minutes after dismounting.

No, his misery was not a result of saddle sores. It was the damn _ship_.

Once Sienna had caught up to them in Amaranthine, with the Champion's boon, Aedan had bribed the ship's captain to set sail ahead of schedule. It had taken a good deal of sovereigns and Aedan had hinted that he could sense darkspawn about. It was complete bull, but who was going to argue with the Hero of Ferelden? The captain had believed him and, not wanting to take any chances, they had set off.

Aedan soon discovered that sailing was not his thing. The ship was dirty, smelly, and above all else—wet. He hadn't been dry since they left Amaranthine and, embarrassingly, he was starting to chaff in certain places.

_Isabela is a lying cheat_, he thought bitterly. When he had first met the pirate at the Pearl she had made sailing seem like the best thing in the world. She had even ranked it above sex.

He liked sex better.

Finally deciding that sulking in the hold was not going to improve his mood, Aedan headed up to the main deck. He threw open the hatch with a grunt and instantly regretted the decision.

"What the bloody fuck?" He lost control of his tongue as he covered his eyes from the brilliant light shining upon his face. He could already feel his cheeks beginning to burn. "Is that the _sun_? _Again_?"

Cartier had been spending the majority of the trip outside with the sailors. But he had the advantage of Rivaini blood—he was used to such exposure from his father and son trips to the island of Rivaine. He was in no danger of burning.

The Orleasian stopped looking up at the Crow's Nest to say sarcastically, "Yes, that's the sun. It comes up everyday in case nobody told you."

Aedan squinted about angrily. "Not in Ferelden, it doesn't." He wished for his country's ever present dark clouds or its tall trees...anything to block out that infernal star. Cartier's yelling startled him, breaking him out of his sun-induced daze.

"Put your clothes back on! Dammit, this is the last time I'm warning you!"

_What now? _Aedan walked over to Cartier and asked reluctantly, "Who are you screaming at?" Curse it all, he was already sweating through his shirt. He had long abandoned his hot, heavy armour for a light sleeveless shirt and a simple pair of trousers. Maker, he didn't think he had ever been so _hot_. And _he_ had nearly been roasted alive by dragons before.

Cartier started to answer. "That mage. She's running around in her skivvies." He pointed up the the Crow's Nest and Aedan followed his line of sight curiously. Sure enough, Sienna was up there, sunbathing from the look of it.

Aedan shrugged, indifferent. "That's her choice."

"I understand that, but you Fereldens—no offense—live where the sun only comes out twelve times a year. She'll burn to a crisp if she doesn't cover up."

Aedan crinkled his nose and chose not to ask why he thought calling them Fereldens was offensive. The skin around the bridge of his nose and on his cheekbones was beginning to itch. "Cartier, this Kirkwall...it's not known for its warm weather, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is, Commander."

"Ah. Damn."

* * *

_There aren't enough curse words in the common tongue_, Hawke decided without remorse. She knew she looked ridiculous, hanging helplessly from the iron bar she had attached to her doorway. She had been attempting to do a pull-up, hoping Anders's healing job had brought her back to normal. Considering the most she'd been able to since she grabbed onto the bar was kick her feet, she was going to assume that she still had a way to go. Anders was at least polite enough not to laugh. He helped her back down. "Hawke, are you sure you could do a pull-up _before_ your duel with the Arishok?"

"I don't _know_, Anders. It wasn't like I had a _reason_ to be doing pull-ups left and right. Don't be silly." Hawke moaned after she had made it to the ground. The drop down had jarred her ribs.

"Well," Anders said, inspecting her for the third time that evening. "You'll be ready for your banquet next week. That's good news."

Hawke's eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Yes. Great. I'll get to spend an evening with _nobles_. Won't Carver be jealous?"

Anders gave her a disappointed look. "Hey! I've met some nobles that weren't complete asses, I'll have you know." Suddenly Anders reached out and touched her cheek, his fingertips resting on her still lightly bruised face. "Do you want me to take care of this?"

Hawke ducked under his outstretched hand. "Time will take care of it, Anders." She moved as quickly past him as her ribs would allow. "Luckily for me my face isn't my best asset."

She was begging the question. Anders called after her, "Then what is?"

"My ass, obviously." She didn't hear any argument from Anders.

* * *

Varric's nightly card game at the Hanged Man had been unexpectedly canceled. What was even more unexpected was that Varric had sent out a messenger to Fenris's mansion to inform him of such. It mattered little to Fenris. Hawke hadn't shown up the past five nights and while it was still an enjoyable evening, there was no one there to play referee.

It was looking like tonight would be another night spent alone inside and he spent too many nights already in that fashion. Fenris reached for the wine bottle on his bare dining table and it occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he ate. Groceries were needed, badly. He didn't feel like going out, though he knew his stomach was eventually going to win that argument. He was hungry—not starving, he _knew_ starving, but he needed to take care of it nonetheless.

It was still light outside so the streets of Hightown were filled with lesser nobles hurrying to get home. They saw him and the hushed whispers started. He had learned long ago to ignore them, but when the name Hawke escaped their lips he startled and started to eavesdrop.

Two noble women were huddled together, their lazy bodyguard trailing behind them. One, a brunette who spoke too loudly, said to her companion, "Yes, I heard the explosion. Right in the middle of the night. I thought it was just the Champion doing some mage thing, but then I heard from the Comtessa-"

"Oh! How is the Comtessa doing?"

Fenris growled. Eavesdropping was only useful when people had something of interest to say. And if they stayed on topic.

The brunette didn't look pleased to be interrupted. She snapped, "She's fine," and continued. "Anyway, she told me that an _assassin_ nearly _blew up _the Champion. Can you imagine? She's Champion for how long and people are already trying to kill her! My family hasn't had an assassination attempt in years! Aren't _we_ still a threat?"

If Fenris thought anymore about the fact that this woman was jealous that Hawke was a assassin's target and she was not, he'd do something to land him in one of Aveline's jail cells. Instead he stalked silently and quickly to Hawke's estate, his head pounding from too much wine and his heart pounding from too much worry.

His pause before Hawke's doorway was only slight; memories of a night long past still pricked at him and he had to push those thoughts away. Fenris gave the door a good shove, making it inside without changing his mind. Bodahn was there, straightening up when he saw Hawke had a visitor.

"Serah Hawke is-"

He saw her. Standing at the top of her partially destroyed staircase and laughing at something Anders had said. Or that she had said. She _did_ laugh at her own jokes.

Bodahn quickly found somewhere else to be, dragging Sandal along with him. Fenris waited, silently staring up at her until she noticed.

* * *

Not telling Fenris about the assassination attempt had seemed a good idea before. It wasn't like she could go over to his mansion, step over the still present dead bodies and say, _hey, someone tried to kill me the other day. You know, a professional assassin. Just thought you ought to know. _It'd be...an odd way to go about things. But now he was angry that he hadn't known. She could let him be angry, act the regretful child as she usually did and take her scolding. Or...

Hawke stormed down her stairs, stopping right in the middle. She pointed viciously at her broken railing. "Look at this! Some asshole broke into my house a few nights ago and brought a Maker damned _bomb_ with him." Her line of thinking was, if she acted madder than he was, he'd get confused and back off. It was most likely idiotic, but it was all she had. "And that was _before_ he tried to kill me!"

Fenris wasn't thrown off by her "clever" tactics. "How many?" His voice was low, but its timber carried throughout the empty house.

She blinked and fought the urge to say that there had been fifty of them which would explain why she was so thoroughly beaten. The truth came out regardless, just from Anders. "There was _one_. He's dead. Rebel protected Hawke quite valiantly."

Hawke was shocked; that easily was the nicest thing Anders had ever said about her dog. "He's a good boy," she agreed and as if summoned Rebel came bounding to her side. She patted his head and found it was quite sticky. Her smile waned. He had been at the jam again.

"Hmph." Fenris eyed them both, scowling before he turned on one of his bare heels and stalked out. Hawke went after him, nearly slipping on a bit of debris and having to catch herself without the railing there to provide support.

"Hold on," she pleaded, breathless. "It was just one guy. An Orleasian, I think." Fenris didn't halt so she kept on stumbling after him and talking. "He called my dog a "courser". That's an Orleasian thing, right?"

"You didn't tell me." His tone was slightly accusatory, but at least he was turned around now. Facing her.

Hawke bit her lip, testing the bruised part for sensitivity. "I didn't tell _a lot_ of people. Anders, because I needed healing. Aveline, because she's the Captain of the guard. And you try keeping anything remotely interesting from Varric and Isabela. Those two know when I buy a new pair of _socks_, for Andraste's sake!" She spread out her hands and shrugged. "I wasn't _keeping_ it from you. It was done with. There was no need." Then she waited. She knew why he came. He was worried. But he wouldn't say so. She knew that, too.

"You should post guards outside your estate, Hawke."

Change came slowly in Kirkwall. Sometimes it didn't come at all.

"Yes. I should."

* * *

While Aedan was uncomfortable, Moira was having a blast. Yes, Aedan had brought her along as well. The Captain, a Free Marcher, had asked Aedan if it was a good idea to bring her on board. He had explained to the Captain that Fereldens didn't go anywhere without their mabari. Not to war, the privy, or even the grave. Moira was there to stay, but if the Captain thought he could separate them from one another he was more than welcome to try. Maker, his people skills were damned rusty.

In total Aedan's party consisted of six of Highever's guards, straight from Cousland castle. These men and women were the best Fergus had had to offer...or the most _available_, but that was not how Aedan was going to introduce them at the Champion's banquet. He also had two Wardens with him, mostly for show. Warden Cartier and Sienna seemed the most mild mannered of Vigil's Keep's company, Aedan included. That was a positive thing. And Aedan didn't know them that well so he didn't feel obligated to chat with them. Instead Aedan kept to the hold and kept a log in his journal. He had two journals, actually. One was his day-to-day one, that honestly he neglected terribly. The other was much more well used. It was his Commander's log: each Warden-Commander was made to keep one. It was meant to record meetings with darkspawn and information about the Deep Roads. Aedan used it for that _and_ to record any new skills or fighting techniques he picked up. He also included drawings. As a child he had been taught cartography, for war purposes, and he was still skilled and steady with ink.

He had a third journal with him, one that was much older and belonged to another commander that had long since passed on. He was only a quarter of a way through it, but it supposedly held an account of the discovery of an awakened darkspawn. Having dealt with them himself, Aedan was a bit curious.

After a few minutes of trying to read the tiny, cramped writing in the dark, he gave up and headed up top to rejoin his companions. His men were attempting to teach the sailors the lyrics to _The Burden of the Warden, _a bawdy song the Wardens usually sang whenever the mead was being passed out a little too freely.

Aedan refrained from singing along. He had a voice suited for command. It was too loud, too rough for song, but it carried over the sounds of battle and _that_ was what was important.

The song stopped abruptly, leaving most of the men in laughter and one in a rage. Aedan smirked when he saw the angry man vigorously scrubbing his shirt clean of bird droppings.

He didn't need to be a sailor to know what that meant.

Bird_shit_ meant _birds_.

_Birds_ meant _land_ was near.

He hoped Kirkwall was ready for them.


	5. Chapter 5: Ladies In Waiting

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 5: Ladies-In-Waiting**

**A/N: **Did it _seriously_ take me five chapters to get Cousland to Kirkwall?

* * *

Hawke turned the fine material over in her hands before she realized what was bothering her about the dress.

"The neckline is..._low_," she remarked stiffly, holding up the dress against her torso. Isabela didn't see the issue.

"But, sweet thing, that's the _best_ _part_." She took the dress from Hawke's death grip and showed it to Merrill and Orana. Aveline had long since left them after she had delivered the too fine, too expensive, and too _revealing_ package. _A wise move,_ Hawke thought bitterly. Too long had the four of them been 'ohhing' and 'ahhing' over Duke Prosper's extravagant gift. Whoever Duke Prosper was, he was a _rich_ one. He had sent the dress to Hawke's estate through the guard, but for what reason she did not know. Yet.

If this was simply because he had a unmarried son...

Oh, Maker. It _could_ be worse, she realized. _Duke Prosper_ could be the unmarried one.

Hawke stopped her imagination right there; it was heading nowhere good fast. She jumped back into the conversation instead. "It's the wrong color," she pointed out flatly. "It's _blue_. Red's my color, everyone knows that."

"It's such a pretty blue, though," Isabela cooed and laid it out on Hawke's bed for all to see. She nudged Orana gently. "Don't you think so?"

The dress was honestly not _just_ a pretty blue. It was bloody _gorgeous_. The blue was so deep it was nearly purple and it was vibrant in a way Hawke had never seen before. Not even on other nobles. It had to be bewitched. Such pure, eye catching color wasn't possible with simple dye.

Merrill seemed afraid to touch it. Her slender fingers reached out, just inches away from the cloth and there they would stay, not moving. As if she would ruin the fabric with a single prod.

Stepping silently behind her, Hawke whispered, "Boo."

As Hawke had expected, Merrill jumped and flew back into her. As the two stumbled backwards, Merrill asked repeatedly, "_Boo_? What does that mean?"

"Ghosts say it, kitten," Isabela explained, wiggling her fingers eerily.

Merrill was unconvinced. "I have never heard a spirit say "boo". Ever."

Hawke shrugged. "You're the expert, Merrill." Hawke watched as Orana carefully folded the dress up and placed it delicately back into its box. "I wasn't even planning on wearing a dress. I'm a Champion, not a lady-in-waiting."

"If you don't wear the gift, Mistress, you'll risk offending His Grace," Orana explained quietly. If Leandra was still there she would have known that. _She_ could have instructed Hawke and got her through this banquet. But she was gone. Orana quickly stepped into her place.

* * *

Aedan glanced at the templar's eyes through his helmets eye slits. It was hard to tell if this templar was serious with his face covered like that. It was too damn hot outside to be wearing a metal helmet like that without reason. And since mages didn't even wear armour, there really _wasn't_ a reason for it.

This particular templar had stepped into his way the second he and his subordinates had walked onto Kirkwall's dock. Aedan set his jaw. He had been expecting something like this. He _had_ brought a currently very sunburnt mage with him.

Aedan raised a hand in greeting, very aware that he and the rest of his group were still dressed like raiders. "Hold, templar. We're Wardens and this mage is one of us. You have no authority here."

"Is that so?" The templar's voice was muffled, though still quite snobbish. If Aedan had to guess this templar was probably the youngest son of some lesser noble and thought himself above them. If he only knew... There was no chance that he'd recognize Aedan as the Hero of Ferelden, though. He hadn't bothered with shaving the entire trip and now resembled some barbaric hillsman.

Aedan made to move on, but the templar refused to budge. "There isn't a Warden post in Kirkwall. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Maker, _this_ again. "I am the Warden-Commander of Amarathine. And you're in my way."

"Perhaps I should take you to Meredith to be safe."

Who was this _Meredith_? The new Viscountess? But why would she be working through templars? She had to be a Knight-Captain or Knight-Commander then. Aedan thought this over and glanced back at Warden Sienna who was vigorously scratching her sunburn. She looked like she had been roasted on a spit.

Warden Cartier stepped in for support. "You have no right," he told the templar. "Chantry law says-"

"I know what it _says_." The templar still did not move. Aedan inwardly brightened; a little confrontation was just the way he liked to start his day. He straightened out to his full height and walked into the templar, forcing him to unwillingly back up a few feet.

"The Arch-demon was in my way, once," was all he said. It wasn't a threat; it was a simple fact. But if the templar interpreted it as a threat, well, that couldn't be helped.

His statement didn't go over well. "You're not going to kill me."

"No, I wouldn't. _I'll conscript you_." That threat went over much, _much_ better. Most people were more than willing to try him in battle, but would they face a darkspawn so willingly? Maker, no. The idea of being conscripted into the Wardens was worse than death to some.

While the templar was stomping back to his commander, Sienna remarked casually, "What's _with_ the templars in this town? They're all over the damn place. Like cockroaches."

Aedan had to agree with her. In Ferelden the templars kept to their Circle on Lake Calenhad and away from the bulk of the populace. In Kirkwall, evidently, they had free reign. "Agreed," he told the mage. "Let's not do anything to draw their attention, then."

Warden Cartier nodded. "What I want to know is _how_ did the Champion hide from them for so long?"

"Well, they made her Champion for a reason." Aedan searched the docks. There was supposed to be someone there to meet them, but everyone on the docks looked busy with their own lives.

Except for a girl dressed in ridiculously ornate armor. She had been watching their ship the minute they had arrived. She was waiting for someone, he guessed. And from her angry stance he also guessed that she was very tired of waiting for them.

Aedan approached her quickly and asked her, dreading the reply, "My lady, you wouldn't happen to be waiting for the Warden-Commander, would you?"

She barely gave him a glance. "Yes," she replied grimly, keeping her grip tight on the mace at her side. "I'm his new squire."

"Ah."

* * *

Hawke tugged hopelessly at Duke Prosper's dress, trying to protect what little modesty she had left. "The _neckline_, though. What if I get into a fight? One tug and _bam_, there go the girls."

Varric chuckled at that. He was dressed up as well, wearing a new dark red coat that she was madly jealous of. "As amusing of a story as that has the potential to be, there is _zero_ chance of you getting into a brawl, Hawke. And there's zero chance of you flashing the nobles."

"Then what's the point in even _going_?" she demanded in mock seriousness.

Isabela cackled devilishly while Merrill giggled behind her hands. Most of Hawke's group was there at her mansion, practicing their dinner etiquette at the behest of Seneschal Bran. And surprisingly they were all present, save for Fenris, of course, but no one was really surprised at that. He had plenty of experience at these sorts of things, stuffy banquets with important people. But, unlike Sebastian, Fenris's banquet experiences hadn't been...pleasant. Hawke hadn't expected him to attend, though it would have helped her focus. Instead of remembering which fork was to be used with which dish, she was wondering where he was. Brooding in his basement, most likely.

"Hawke, that's...wrong. Again." Sebastian gently took her spoon from her hand and laid it back on the table. The Seneschal, once he learned how little Hawke knew about proper banquet etiquette, had locked himself in Leandra's old room and refused to come out until Hawke stopped chewing with her mouth open. Aveline and Sebastian had mostly taken over from there. And after Varric proceeded to whisper tidbits of _dwarven_ etiquette in Hawke's ear and completely erase all Aveline had managed to teach her, the Guardswoman had thrown her hands up and left. Now only Sebastian remained, desperately trying to educate Hawke and avoid staring at Isabela who was lying across the table, muttering about hats. Hawke glared at the brother's perfect and zealous blue eyes. Sebastian just smiled gently back at her and nodded towards the spoons again. He was being so damned patient with her and it was driving her mad.

"I. Was. A. Bloody. _Peasant_!" She slammed her palm on the table and sent a few utensils flying. "_We only had one spoon each!_" She stood up, and stormed out of the room. Seconds later she returned, seething. "Just realized I have nowhere to go since you're all in _my_ damn house."

Merrill gestured for her to sit down again. "I think I've figured it out, Hawke. It's this one." The tiny elf raised a spoon high in triumph.

Varric shook his head. "Wrong, Daisy."

"Oh." Merrill's fine brows furrowed. "Shit."

Hawke moved Isabela's legs away from her chair. "It's mostly _Orleasians_ coming to this, right? I don't think they'd be surprised if I just speared everything with my knife. I am _Ferelden_, after all. They'd be expecting it."

Isabela suddenly sat up and laughed. "Hawke, if you ever want the Seneschal to leave you'll have to stop talking like that." She hopped off the table. "It's the middle fork. Maker, you're memory is _bad_. No wonder you're shit at cards." The rogue sauntered over to Hawke's mother's room to get Bran out.

"I'm not nearly as bad as Anders!" Hawke glanced over at Anders who was asleep in his chair. Justice kept him up nights, having no care for his human needs. It made Hawke angry, but as Anders had pointed out before, it wasn't her place to question it. He stayed unconscious, even after Hawke threw a few bread rolls at him. The Seneschal caught her in the act as he was walking out and tried to retreat inside again.

"No." Isabela shoved him back towards the table. "Hawke is the closest thing to a Viscounte that you've got. Now, attend to her."

Seneschal Bran gathered what was left of his dignity and slowly stepped over to her, his back straight and proud. "Champion?"

Hawke looked him straight in the eye and asked, "What do I do if I have to take a piss?"

* * *

He hadn't argued when the girl had claimed to be his new squire. Aedan simply followed her to her father's small estate on the outskirts of Kirkwall. Her family was part of the minor nobility and was in the business of mining. And that was all Aedan knew about them. He might have asked a little more about their background but he soon learned that he wasn't staying with them. Just his brother's guards were. Aedan and his two Wardens (and evidently his new squire) were going to be someone _else's_ honored guests.

Aedan sighed and asked Petyr Mortaine (that was his squire's father's name) who the Comte de Launcet was. Aedan didn't get a useful answer, other than the fact the Comte and Comtessa were very, _very_ Orleasian. And they were thrilled (or at least the Comtessa was) to have the Hero of Ferelden under their own roof. His next question was more serious. "Ser Mortaine, why is your daughter squiring for _me_ and not any other knight? I've never had a true squire and I'm afraid I don't want to change that." For a noble's daughter there should have been plenty of knights available to take her on as their squire. If not in Kirkwall, then in Ferelden or Orlais.

Petyr grew very still. "Edith's father is Antivan."

"So?"

"I'm not Antivan."

Ah. The girl was a bastard child, then. She would be considered an insult to most "true" knights. But she did have one thing going for her. She had a step-father that didn't hold her mother's wayward sleeping habits against her. Even with this knowledge, Aedan still didn't want her squiring for him. He was going to argue against it further, but Edith herself decided to join in the conversation. She was short for her age, but still stocky. And she was _strong_ if the mace at her hip was any indicator. "Milord," she said quietly. Her speech was unrefined. "If I don't find a knight that will take me on, it's either marriage or the templars for me." Her too wide mouth thinned miserably. "I don't want to join the Chantry and my mother would rather I work in the mines than put her through what it would take to get me married. But if _you_ were my sponsor, milord, they'd _have_ to knight a bastard. I heard you got one crowned back in Ferelden."

Oh, shit. What was the Maker thinking when He "gifted" him with a soft spot for misfits? Aedan reluctantly stomped over to the girl. "Squire Edith, I fight _darkspawn_."

"I know this, milord."

"I'm no chivalrous knight. I'm a Grey Warden."

"Noted, milord."

"I'm going to treat you as if you were one of my recruits. If you fail to meet my expectations, I'll feed you to a hurlock."

Warden Sienna was perturbed. "_What_?"

Aedan ignored her and nodded. "Fine, _Squire_." He slid his pack from his shoulders and thrust it at her. "You will lead us to the Comte and Comtessa. But before we leave..." He pointed first to himself and then to his two wardens. "We all need baths and I need a shave. Arrange that." While she stumbled off with the added weight of his pack, Aedan addressed the rest of his men who would be staying at Mortaine's home. "You lot will be staying here and helping guard Mortaine's mines until I have other orders for you." Mine guarding wasn't how the men and women of Highever had wanted to spend their time, but Aedan didn't hear any arguments from them.

When his new squire returned (Maker, he really, really didn't want one. It was practically the male equivalent of having a lady-in-waiting.) Edith announced that his bath would be ready as soon as the servants finished heating up the water.

"That's acceptable, Squire Edith," he told her, biting his tongue. He hated playing the part of the never pleased noble, but he reminded himself that Alistair had sent him here as a noble and not as a warden. He stopped the girl before she vanished again to retrieve a shaving kit for him. "In your personal opinion, how would you describe the Comte and Comtessa?"

"Orleasian."

He looked down, then up, and at last he simply grimaced. "That's what I heard."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Mistress?" Orana asked her for the second time. The elf lifted up a few strands of Hawke's hair and let it fall over her shoulder. "Your hair has grown so lovely and thick-"

"Chop it off. Now." Hawke pulled out one of her boot knives from its hiding place. "If you don't, I will," she reminded Orana gently. Orana quickly resumed her work, brushing out her hair and getting any tangles out before she cut it.

As locks of her hair began to fall around her and onto her back, Hawke tried to make conversation. Orana just clicked her tongue in concentration when she felt she had to respond. The Seneschal and her companions had left long ago. Bran _might_ have been crying when he left, Hawke wasn't sure. She didn't blame him if he was. Her manners at the dinner table were atrocious. While her family was in Lothering her mother had attempted to teach them to eat properly, but to Hawke it didn't matter how nicely one ate when their dinner was half a slice of bread. How Carver had managed to get so damn big was a mystery to her still today.

_"How much?"_

_ "For your hair? It's dark. The ladies prefer blonde for their wigs."_

_ "But it's clean! And thick! And there's nearly two feet of it."_

_ A deafening and maddening pause. "I suppose I could make a wig out of that. Sit down and I'll cut it. If you're sure about this...?"_

_ "My brother needs new boots."_

Hawke blinked. She had nearly fallen asleep and Orana had let her. "Is it done?"

Orana brushed a few stray hairs off of her apron. "Yes, Mistress. It's done."

* * *

Eamon had informed him in his final instructions that he had arranged for Aedan and his men to stay in the city. And Aedan understood why more than half his men were staying with Petyr Mortaine. They were needed at the mines and probably were making some money for the crown as they did their duty. _That_ made sense. But why would Eamon send him to stay with Orleasians? He thought at first it was because Isolde knew the Comtessa, but later he learned otherwise.

The Comtessa had _daughters_. Awful, snobby, and _unmarried_ daughters that gossiped and wore odd shades of make-up and were cruel to the servants. Their mother was lovely, though. Kind and gentle, though still very Orleasian. The Comte mostly stayed out of everyone's way, rubbing his temples and searching for something to cure his headaches.

While his wardens, Cartier and Sienna, were excused immediately after dinner so that they could rest from the journey, Aedan was stuck answering mundane questions about the Blight and Ferelden. He tried to be nice and to keep the gory details out of his answers, but a few snide remarks from Dulce de Launcet quickly soured his attitude.

"I stabbed the Arch-demon until I reached its brain. Then I moved the blade around a bit so everything got mixed together and-"

The Comtessa and her daughters shrieked and together they left for their rooms, in fear that they would soon swoon. Aedan couldn't care less. They had left the Comte and himself alone in the study, for which the Comte leaned over to the Warden and whispered, "_Thank you._"

Aedan was a terrible house guest. He was sneaking out. Getting past the Comte's guards was easy. It was his damn squire that was giving him all the trouble. She was useful, yes, especially as a guide. But she wouldn't let him breathe. All throughout dinner with the de Launcets she had stuck to him like a leech. Edith wouldn't let him out of her sight and while to another it might have been endearing, to him it was downright annoying. He was perfectly capable of managing on his own; he had done it for years.

Kirkwall's nights were cool, cool enough so that Aedan was able to wear one of his cloaks around outside. He didn't want to be recognized during his midnight walk, not by Edith or by anyone. Kirkwall's nightlife was still lively, even though half the city was still under reconstruction. Since he still didn't know the city's layout yet, Aedan headed for the only place he had seen. The docks. When he neared the place he could smell frying fish and hear the tempting "pop" of fresh grease. True to character, Aedan headed for the food first. The Comtessa had somehow gotten the idea that he preferred vegetables over meat (evidently that was an actual thing—he had no idea) and had served him no meat. He wouldn't have been surprised if Eamon had been behind the rumor.

Instinctively he followed the smell of frying fish and ordered a plate from the women behind the delectable smell. He finished off the fish quickly, cleaning his fingers clean of grease with his handkerchief. He would have licked them clean but that might have been undignified.

As he was enjoying his second helping, he heard a rough, irritated voice bark, "Someone's cooking _fish_." It was followed by a gagging sound and then a few laughs. One of the laughs, a loud confident chuckle caught his attention.

"_Isabela_?"

* * *

Hawke could hardly keep herself still. She was mostly healed, her face no longer resembled minced meat, and her hair was back to its normal length. She moved from one foot to the other as Anders studied her, feeling her ribs and her stitches. After she announced very loudly that she felt fine, he gave in.

"You're back."

Hawke gave a little jump and wildly danced around him. "_What_ did you say, Anders?"

Anders simply shook his head, his eyes bright with amusement. "The Champion's _back_. I give you my okay to get back out there."

"Yes!" Hawke ran over to her estate's doorway where Varric, Isabela, and Fenris were waiting for her. She quickly grabbed Varric by the shoulders. "Get you pen out, Varric, because I'm back on top!" She grabbed her father's old, worn down staff and headed for the outside. "Let's go kill a dragon! Yeah!"

"Slow down, Hawke," Varric advised her. "We're going to start with some raider captains on the docks. _Then_ maybe a dragon."

"Don't go promising her that," Fenris snorted.

Isabela agreed. "A midnight jaunt to the Bone Pit does _not_ sound like fun. And I need some fun." She turned to Hawke with a smirk. "Help me pick out some fun?"

"Oh, that's what I'm here for. To be your unneeded wingman." Hawke laughed, stretching out her limbs and lead the way to the docks.

This was the best she had felt in ages. She wasn't a helpless doll anymore; she was the Maker damned Champion of Kirkwall. And everyone knew it now.

The minute they hit the docks Fenris started complaining about the smell, which got him a few weak laughs. They laughed louder when he actually gagged on the stench.

Hawke walked ahead of them, grinning like an idiot before she stiffened out of reflex. Damn if that wasn't the tallest bloke she'd ever seen, and her father and Carver had been tall men. She had nearly mistaken him for a Qunari, hence her reaction. She nudged Isabela. "Check out the giant. Maker, was his father a Qunari?"

Varric and Fenris followed her gaze. "He's probably here to help with reconstruction," Varric shrugged. "They need some poor bastard to lift the heavy stuff."

"Or they need someone to help "attend to" all the new widows," Isabela purred and headed his way.

"I really doubt _that's_ why he's here," Hawke scoffed, but to her surprise the man was walking towards them. Oh, no. Even though she had promised to aid Isabel in her quest for "fun" (sex, she was really talking about sex), Hawke had been bedridden for far too long to miss out on some real action now. "Sorry, Isabela. Some other time." She grabbed the pirate by the wrist and steered out of the man's path. She elbowed him out of her way. "Sorry, farm boy. Some other time, eh?"

"Oh, you are such a buzz kill," Isabela grouched, looking back over her shoulder. "He looked sort of familiar..."

"Then you've been there, boned that. Let's _move_!" She was not missing out on her first piece of action since the Arishok. Isabela could wait on _one_ piece of ass. Even if it was a really well-formed ass that belonged to a really well-formed, tall person. _Damn_, she need to hurt something.

* * *

"Farm boy?" Aedan repeated, still looking quite shocked. That certainly wasn't the reaction he had wanted. "_Farm boy_?"

"You struck out?" A dock worker came over and patted Aedan's shoulder apologetically. "Don't worry. She was out of your league."

Aedan's mouth quirked up. He asked the man good-naturedly, "Oh, was she?"

"Of course she was." He stated that as if it should have been obvious. "That was the Champion."

_Oh_.


	6. Chapter 6: Doglords

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 6: **Doglords

**A/N:** And we're _finally_ getting somewhere! Aedan's in Kirkwall and thus we'll finally be getting to the damn banquet. Next Chapter. This chapter came out a little late because of work and other issues, but its still ongoing, don't worry.

I'm also working on a modern Dragon Age AU revolving around Garrett Hawke and Fenris. I had to look up the rules for MMA fighting. Also, I'm making an AO3 account so I'll be here and there under the same name (VaultEscapeArtist). I'm also on Tumblr under vault-escape-artist.

Once again, thanks for all the feedback! And for sticking with this.

* * *

_Well, they had their chance to surrender_, Hawke frowned and stepped back, away from the fight. Varric appeared at her side while Isabela and Fenris charged forward into the sea of raiders. One of them recognized Isabela and waved "hello" at her. Right before she stabbed him. Hawke shook her head and unhooked her father's staff from her back and observed how her companions were doing.

As she electrocuted the raider captain to her left, Hawke noticed that Isabela was surrounded. She quickly shielded Isabela with a barrier spell. When Fenris called for healing she rolled a health potion across the battlefield to him. It was comforting to see nothing had changed during her time off. Hawke didn't so much as fight as ensure that none of her friends died. It might not have been the most glorious way to do things, but it was what she knew.

It was what she had tried to do for her family.

Tried.

Shoving a horrible image of Bethany's broken body from her mind, Hawke focused on the task at hand. Messing up raiders all while trying to remain somewhat blood free.

* * *

_That wasn't the way I would have done it. _Aedan felt odd watching the Champion and her companions fight. He kept wanting to jump in or at least shout some advice down to them. He had a decent view of what was going on from one of the dock warehouse's rooftops. The Champion was putting on quite the show for him. All he needed was some snacks.

_Maker, man, you just ate_, he reprimanded himself quickly. Once the Champion's victory was ensured and she and her companions had parted ways, Aedan dropped down from his rooftop. His goal was to catch up with Isabela, as she was the only one of the Champion's current companions that he knew. And he had some questions.

Isabela still was quick, he realized as he jogged after her and soon lost sight of the swaggering pirate. Guessing, Aedan turned a corner and found himself in a dead end alley. "Shit." He spun around and found his way blocked in. He repeated his earlier sentiment. "_Shit_."

The cutthroats in front of him were desperate and hungry, Aedan's least favorite combination. They were very seldom swayed from their path. Ah, he'd try anyway.

"Gentlemen," he addressed them pleasantly though they were anything but.

Their leader, the cleanest of the group, grinned at him. Aedan sighed. He could already tell he was going to regret this little jaunt of his. "You're Ferelden."

Oh, by Andraste's _shield_, was his accent really that obvious? "So you've noticed," he returned flatly.

"How could we not? You Fereldens invade our city and stink up the damn place. Doglords," he spat at Aedan's feet and the noble felt his lip curl unintentionally. The man went on. "And now one of your bitches is our "champion". The Maker does like to play games."

Aedan, as much as he wanted to, couldn't argue with him about that last part. He definitely was regretting not having his shield with him. He had brought his family sword and shield with him for this occasion, cleaning it clean of dust. He may have taken up Warden made weapons, but having his family's blade in hand and shield covering his back was more comforting than he liked. Regardless, he still had the Cousland family blade with him. It would be enough.

Though he tired of this game and was becoming cross, Aedan attempted to engage them in conversation once again. "I need to pass. Is there anyway we can make this happen without bloodshed?"

"Name your price." The thug's eyes wandered over to Aedan's purse.

To the Void with _that_. He still had some semblance of honor, after all. And paying a toll to some dirty Free Marchers for safe passage would shatter it. He was about to tell them to shove it when reinforcements literally rained down from the rooftops. It seemed in Kirkwall thugs and expendable mercenaries just fell from the bloody sky. Before Aedan could decided with group of thugs to turn his blade on first, the ones in front of him or the ones that had just dropped in, the leader fell forward with a bright, golden handled dagger in his back.

"You take the ones on the right, I'll get the left." Isabela had appeared, dark haired and deadly temptress that she was, pulling out another dagger from somewhere on her bodice. She added with a smirk Aedan recognized, "Sound like a plan, sweet thing?"

Aedan gave her a quick bow. "After you, Isabela." Without waiting another moment, Aedan spun and hacked at the side of the nearest merc. It wasn't a lethal stroke, but it did what he had in mind. It knocked the mercenary to the ground and kept her there, but it didn't kill her. Yet.

Isabela did her work on the others as he slashed and hacked his way through the rest. Without his shield he was allowed more freedom of movement, though it also left him more open. He sustained a few cuts, nothing critical, but the worst of it came when he opened up the throat of one attacker and was sprayed with a wave of blood without a shield to block it. There was no way he was going to be able to slip into the Comte's home dripping in blood. It was not the right way to begin their budding relationship.

Wiping blood out of his eyes, he looked for his next target and found himself blessedly alone with Isabela. "Well," he said, sliding his sword back into his sheath. He'd wipe it clean later. "That was invigorating."

"Why is it only bloodshed that gets you going?" Isabela frowned at him, trying to scrub grime off her bare legs. Aedan blinked as he studied her, glad to see something familiar in this blasted place. But why wasn't she wearing pants? Probably the heat. Aedan didn't blame her at all. If he had her legs, he'd do the same. "I know other activities that involve less blood and are just as _invigorating_."

The Warden chuckled at that. "I see _you_ haven't changed, Isabela. Almost thought you didn't recognize me back there. I know your Champion did not."

"You've never exactly been one to blend into a crowd. There's not many men that could boast your _size_. " Isabela was practically purring now.

Aedan groaned. He thought he had escaped such obvious euphemisms when Zevran had left for Antiva. "Already, Isabela? Really? I'm all covered in blood."

"As if that's a turn off." She laughed freely at him. "And why shouldn't I hit the ground running? I don't see that wildling of yours. She was _not_ the sharing type if I remember correctly."

His smile was forced now. "No, Morrigan was not. And I thank the Maker for that."

"Oooh, you nobles are so _stuffy_." Isabela sighed and sheathed her daggers. "Well, Cousland, was there a reason you were following me?"

How did he want to play this? He decided to be straight with her. "I find myself with business in Kirkwall."

"Maker, I could have called _that_. You don't do anything without some greater purpose."

Peeved with all the interruptions, Aedan talked over her. "I've been sent to attend your Champion's banquet. And since it seems the two of you are acquainted with one another, I thought I'd ask you your opinion of her. And I also need a bath."

Isabela grinned and gestured to the open ocean that was accessible through the docks. "The ocean's all one big bath, you know. I'll find us a secluded spot."

"I'd appreciate it," he returned suspiciously and followed her down to the docks and to a stretch of empty beach. With the hour so late there was little chance of them being spotted. It would do, he supposed, as long as he didn't take his time.

Aedan began stripping off his clothes. His armor was too noticeable to wear and not draw attention to himself so that had been left back with the Comte and Comtessa. When he noticed Isabela wasn't joining him he called her out on it. Her reply? "I prefer to watch."

"That's not what I've heard."

"Oooh, you're funny now?"

"Just honest."

"Bah," she shook her head in disapproval. "Those clothes are done for. I'll see if I can find you some others. Wait here."

Aedan drawled in response, "Oh, yes. I'll just wait here, naked and exposed, in a strange city while you run off." She didn't even respond to that. Just ran off into the night, hopefully to return with pants that would be long enough. Aedan started scrubbing his boots first. He had slipped in some poor sod's intestines earlier and the smell was getting to him.

* * *

Luckily for him, Isabela did return with pants. And with a few friends from the local brothel. The pirate had promised them a chance to see the Hero of Ferelden naked and the bastards had jumped at the chance. "I _hate_ you!" Aedan shouted at her and her company as he tried to pull on the new clothes as quickly as he could. When he was finally fully dressed again, he clambered back up to the main part of the docks and watched Isabela's friends scatter into the wind.

Straightening out his collar, Aedan sent a scathing glare Isabela's way. "Though I appreciate your friends' interest, all I asked for was pants and your opinion. I have the former, but I'm still waiting for the latter."

"You're just going to her banquet, what do you need to know about her?" Isabela watched him try to keep his new, too wide pants from slipping down. "You're thinner than I remember."

"You met me before I took a little trip down to Fort Drakon's dungeons. Lost a bit of weight there. Gained some height, though." The image of a rotting, blood stained rack flashed in the back of his mind. Self-consciously Aedan began to rub the messy scars on his wrists.

Isabela was untroubled by his words, though he knew she got his meaning. "Ah, luckily for you I brought this with me." She held up a black strap of leather in her hands. Aedan blanched.

"You're a special woman, Isabela, but I'm, uh, not into that."

She hit him with the strap, guffawing. "It's a _belt_, not a whip." She reached out and grabbed the front of his pants, yanking him forward. She began the work of slipping his belt through the loops and buckling it for him. Aedan just rolled his eyes and let her. "So," he said nonchalantly, "the Champion. What kind of person is she?"

"One that worries too much. And feels guilty about things she cannot change. Sort of like you." Isabela thought for a minute. She added with a chuckle, "And makes really bad puns. All the time. Every time she decapitates someone, _every time_, she says "someone didn't have their _head_ in the game"." Isabela did her best imitation of Hawke's Ferelden accent.

"You're kidding me," Aedan told her in disbelief. "I thought she was a cutthroat mercenary."

"What? She can't do that _and_ make puns?"

Well, he supposed it was possible. "Perhaps I should wait and see for myself what she's like."

"I'm not lying to you," Isabela protested. "_Farm boy_."

He scowled. "For that I'm only buying you _one_ drink."

"Hey, it's a start."

Aedan shook his head and followed her into the local tavern. He took the time to drill her about Kirkwall and the Arishok before she spotted someone friendlier and with a freer purse. Aedan wished her luck and set out back for the Comte's mansion.

* * *

"Can I _dance_?" Hawke repeated the question slowly. Bran was back in her estate, along with a few of her companions, and was quizzing her once again on what little etiquette she knew. "I know a few reels, but..."

"Those are peasant dances," Seneschal Bran snapped, his migraine worsening by the hour.

Hawke threw up her hands. "Imagine that. The peasant girl only knows peasant dances. Who would have called that one?"

Bran sighed deeply. "Then I suppose I'll have to teach you the fundamentals."

Hawke quickly raised a hand to keep him at bay. "Ah, I'm not dancing with you. Dancing with you means you'll have to touch me and I've seen you in Anders's clinic _way_ too many times to allow that to happen." She turned to her friends. Her only other options were her rogues; Varric, Sebastian, and Isabela.

Isabela sauntered over. "C'mon, Hawke. You don't want to embarrass yourself in front of the Warden."

Confused, Bran and Hawke asked at the same time, "The _Warden_?"

They didn't know? Isabela was practically bouncing with glee over the fact she knew something the rest of them didn't. Even Varric looked at her blankly. "Wait...you all don't know?" She ran over to Hawke and, taking her arm, twirled the mage around a few turns. "The Hero of Ferelden is coming to your banquet!"

"_What_?" Once again Hawke and Bran spoke in unison. Bran, however, recovered first.

"Ferelden did say they were sending an ambassador. He must be the Warden, Lord Cousland, I believe?" Bran's initial shock had easily dissipated. Hawke's had not. Her voice cracked as she choked out, "The Warden's _coming_?"

"If I can help it, _yes_. Again and again."

"Isabela, take this seriously!" Hawke shrieked and raced over to Sebastian and grabbed both of his gloved hands. "Choir Boy! Teach me to dance. Relive the days of your wild youth, but watch yourself!"

"Ah, Hawke, slow down!" Sebastian pleaded with her as she had taken to spinning the both of them around her study's floor. "This isn't even a dance!"

"I have to learn something! Lead, Sebastian, lead!" Hawke was almost frantic. "I can't make a fool of myself with the Warden there! Shit! I didn't listen to anything Bran said!"

"What do you mean you didn't listen?! I've been here for days!"

Varric nudged Isabela, giving her a knowing look. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Oh, I most certainly am." Isabela pulled Hawke out of her and Sebastian's ridiculous spinning. She waited for Hawke to get her sense of balance back before she started in on her. "You have a _crush_." Isabela stared at Hawke as if she had just given the pirate the greatest gift in all of Thedas. "You have a _crush_ on the _Hero of Ferelden_. You've never had a crush! Never!"

Hawke protested that. "I've shown an interest in people before! You _can't_ tell me I've never had a crush."

Isabela waved a hand at that. "Yes, I know that, but you've never blushed or ran into stuff or let your mouth say stupid, embarrassing things you can never take back. But look at you now! You're acting like an idiot!"

"Oh, shut up." Hawke grumbled irritably. "There isn't a woman in Ferelden that doesn't have a crush on the Warden. The stories you hear..." She sighed dreamily before crossing her arms and scowling. "It's just a dumb crush, all right? Don't make me any more nervous than I already am."

"You're nervous about facing down a few nobles?" Varric chuckled. "Imagine how they feel about meeting _you_, the little Ferelden girl who brought down the Arishok?"

"I was allowed to_ stab_ the Arishok. I'm not allowed to stab the nobles. I think. Am I allowed? Like it there's a really obnoxious one?" She looked to Bran expectantly for an answer.

He looked disturbed. "I hope I don't actually have to reply to that."

"Then I'm going to assume that's a 'yes'."

"It's definitely a 'no'."

"I'm definitely disappointed."

Sebastian clapped her chastely on the shoulder. "Don't worry so, Hawke. I'll be there. And if you get nervous, I find reciting the Chant calms me down."

"I only know the dirty version of the Chant, Sebastian. I doubt that will help."

The Chantry brother looked stricken. "There's a _dirty_ version?"

"_My heart is yours, my breasts are yours, and my ass is yours. For all who walk in the red light of the brothel are-_-"

Sebastian cut her off with a sudden cry. "Hawke! It's '_my hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one_'. What _you_ said was blasphemy! "

"You didn't even let me get to the next verse. That's where all the good blasphemy takes place." Isabela nodded in agreement.

"_Please_ don't."

Bran tried to get them back on track. "Hawke, do you have an escort for the night?"

Hawke's face twisted in confusion. "You want me to hire a whore?" She ignored the sounds of Bran hitting himself in the face.

"Maker, no!"

"Ohhh." She thought she understood. "An armed escort, then? I should be fine. I'm all healed up and should be good to go."

Varric came to her rescue, as usual. "He means to say that an unmarried woman such as yourself needs a male escort. It's improper not to. According to Orlesians, at least."

There was a pause. Hawke slowly inched over to Sebastian and latched onto his arm. "I have an escort. One that won't touch my ass or let anyone else touch it either. It's a good trait in an escort."

"Ah," Sebastian peeled her off of him. "I'm not sure that would be appropriate."

"And Duke Prosper already has provided you with-" Bran began before Hawke cut him off.

"_That_ guy again? Who is he? Did I save his grandmother from certain death or something?" Hawke found a chair and sank into it. Her mabari, Rebel, ran over to her and started licking her hand.

The Seneschal looked tired. "I'm sure I don't know. But the Duke has offered his son as Serah Hawke's escort for the night. It would be wise to except."

Hawke groaned. "_Why_ is he doing this to me? Did I _kill_ his grandmother?" Rebel sensed her distress and whimpered in response.

"His son is named Cyril. Lord Cyril." Bran, obviously at the end of his rope, began gathering up his things. "Serah Hawke, just...try not to embarrass Kirkwall."

"Bran, without me there wouldn't _be_ a Kirkwall." She was sitting upside down now, her feet kicking in the air. It was quite the spectacle.

He stared back at her for a moment. "Yes. And how you accomplished that I will never know."

"Rebel, see our guest out."

Bran startled and then stumbled out the estate with a mabari at his heels. Hawke grinned.

"Good, boy."

* * *

There were positives to having a squire, Aedan decided reluctantly. Though he was unused to being waited on, it was nice not having to unpack. When he had finally returned to the de Launcet's place his things were already laid out and cleaned. Damn, the girl was efficient. The following morning the Comtessa sent for him. Evidently she had been put in charge of choosing and designing his outfit for the Champion's banquet.

If there were _any_ ruffles on it _anywhere_, he was torching it.

The Comtessa greeted him with kisses on both of his cheeks. Aedan just stared at her, stunned with the sudden intrusion of his personal space. Orlesians were...odd.

She seemed to sense he wanted to rush this encounter so she quickly showed him his outfit, draped on an armor stand. "What do you think? I had Isolde help me."

Well, there weren't any ruffles. It had that going for it. And he had been worried when she had mentioned Isolde. Eamon's wife was a strong woman, but she still had Orlesian fashion tastes.

Honestly, he had grown unused to fine clothing. He couldn't recall the last time he had worn such finery. But, he had to admit, what Isolde and the Comtessa had done wasn't in any way bad. It suited him, he thought, feeling the material. The pants were dark grey with a light grey top. Intricate designs covered the collar in sky blue thread. Black boots polished to a shine, probably by his own squire, were on the floor next to the clothes. The outfit also had a cloak, blue-grey in color. It was pinned with a silver griffon. Aedan couldn't help but smile at that. Once he had hinted to Alistair how much Wynne despised griffons the two wouldn't talk of anything else while in her company. It wasn't Aedan's best moment, but in his defense, he and his company had walked _everywhere_ and there was only so much one could do to entertain themselves on the road.

The Comtessa waited until he was done admiring her work. "Will this suit you for tonight, my Lord?" She actually sounded worried. Aedan gave her a nod and tried a smile on her.

"It will do, my Lady."


	7. Chapter 7: (Part 1) Orleasians, Darling

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 7: **Orleasians, Darling, You Get Used To It (Part 1)

**A/N:** And _finally_ we get to the damn banquet! Oh, and this isn't the final chapter, just in case some people thought the banquet was the end of it. Once again, I love getting your feedback and/or questions!

* * *

Whatever material the Comtessa had used for his suit was _itchy_. Aedan waited until no one was watching to scratch vigorously under his collar. His squire, Edith, was having the same issue as the Comtessa had made her an outfit that matched his own. The Comtessa had thought they were adorable. Neither Aedan nor Edith had appreciated the sentiment.

Some servant of the Viscount's Keep had informed Aedan how the night would go. The Champion was first to be seated in the Throne Room where the nobles would go one by one and presented her with their gifts. After everyone had a turn, the party would move into a dining area for the actual banquet. And, of course, because the Orleasians _had_ to come to this, there would be dancing after. Fantastic.

Aedan moved from one foot to the other. He hated all the standing around these events always had. The _things_ he could have accomplished with all this wasted time. Infuriatingly, he had been placed at the back of the line. It had been explained that the most influential nobles are first and last, and Duke Propser's son was the Champion's escort so they _had _to go first. Couldn't leave the Champion unsupervised.

His squire was at his side, a fierce scowl on her face. As a bastard child, she must have grown to despise the Kirkwall nobles who would not have not treated her kindly. And now she was stuck attending a banquet with them. Her mace had been replaced with a sword as that had seemed more appropriate for such an event. Aedan had bought and paid for the weapon, though she had refused vehemently. Once Aedan explained that she was responsible for watching his back and he didn't want an ill equipped squire for that, she had grudgingly accepted.

His family's guards were distributed around the Keep and were instructed to report first to him, and _then_ to the Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen. His wardens, Cartier and Sienna, were at his side as well. Unlike his guards, his wardens had been invited to dine as well. And while Sienna was excited about the change in plans, Cartier looked sick.

"Is there a problem, Warden Cartier?" Aedan asked with a raised brow.

Sienna made a face. "It's probably all this damn perfume. I can barely breath." A few nobles had turned to glare at her and she gestured for them to face front. "Don't look at me. Turn around."

Cartier didn't seem willing to share. "It is nothing, my Lord."

Aedan inwardly sighed at the "my lord". He was going to be getting that all night. "If you're about to piss off one of these nobles with your presence, I'd like to know about it first."

"You know how I was banished for, uh, deflowering a noble's child?" Aedan simply nodded for him to go on. "That noble's here. With his only child. His _son_. The son I-"

Aedan stopped him there. "_Got_ it. I got it." His brow furrowed. "Though I was under the impression that affairs of any sort were common in Orleais?"

"His father wasn't like that. Unfortunately."

"Ah." Aedan peered at the head of the line, looking for a noble sending glares their direction. It didn't take Aedan long to find him or his ruffle wearing son. Aedan then spoke words he later regretted. "Cartier, he seems a bit fancy for your tastes. I would have thought you'd go for someone more rugged."

Cartier sneered at him. "Well, I _normally_ go for tall men, but those are in short supply in Orleais. I like _tall_ men, with _dark_ hair, scars, especially _facial_ scars, and cold eyes, and-"

"Okay, now you're just describing me. Stop it." Aedan decided to take Sienna's advice and face front. And never ask about his subordinates' pasts ever again.

* * *

Lord Cyril had a bit of a baby face. Hawke tried her damnedest not to notice it, but there it was. She just wanted to reach out and pinch his cheeks, but she was almost certain that was considered rude in polite company. Her fingers still itched with the need, though.

She loved and _hated _her dress. She loved how pretty it was because there was no denying that. But it was very...unfit for a Champion. It was also hard to sit in. Bran had placed her in the Viscount's old throne, even though Meredith had protested the move with every fiber in her being. Hawke was stuck sitting up straight as one of Sebastian's arrows. Cyril was seated next to her in a smaller chair, attempting to carry on a conversation with her. She had responded by saying that she liked his outfit and had one just like it at home. From his sudden silence it had been the wrong thing to say.

_If it got him to shut up I'm not taking it back, _Hawke thought as she stood up. For the twelfth time tonight she had been asked to show off the weapon she had used to defeat the Arishok. It made her nervous, letting these slimy nobles touch the only reminder of her father she had left, but Bran had warned her that this would be asked of her. Her father's staff, after this Antivan noble admired all its nicks and scratches, went back to rest along her chair. Her pile of gifts had grown exponentially. There were the boots made of wveryn skin that Cyril's father had given her, about twelve swords she was donating to Aveline's guards as soon as possible, and dresses that she had no idea where she was going to wear them to. If she showed up at the Hanged Man in one of those get ups she'd be laughed out of Kirkwall.

Damn, she was finally good to fight again and she had to spend a whole night with nobles pretending to make nice with her. She had met a_ lot_ of their sons. That couldn't bode well.

_If Mother was here, she'd know what to do...or she'd have me married off before I could blink twice._

"Do you hunt, Champion?" Cyril was trying to start up the conversation again.

"Like, people?" she asked, confused. She realized her mistake a second later but Bran made an announcement that earned her full attention.

"Introducing, the Hero of Ferelden, ambassador and chancellor for King Alistair Theirin, Commander of the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine..." Bran had to take a breath. Man had a lot of titles. "Brother of Teryn Cousland, Lord Aedan."

Hawke stood up as he approached. It just seemed the right thing to do. Damn, she would have been less nervous if it hadn't been for Isabela's teasing. But, then, what did she have to be nervous for? She had faced worse, much worse, and had come out fine before. Hawke straightened up to her full height and put her hands behind her back. She smoothed out her features and replaced her faltering smile with the grim scowl she had picked up from Carver.

The Warden approached her quickly, his fast steps echoing throughout the throne room. The rest of the nobles had taken their time walking down to her, using the occasion to model their new outfits. Not the Warden, though. He marched down the aisle, not bothering to greet the nobles to his left or right. His grey cloak flew behind him rather majestically and he was followed by a girl nearly two heads shorter than he was. Two wardens, in official warden robes and armor, were tailing him as well. Bodyguards. Even Hawke knew it was impolite to bring personal guards to a public party. But she doubted the Warden wanted to make friends with a bunch of Orleasians.

_Maker, he's tall. _That thought sparked a recent memory, though Hawke couldn't recall which. His hair was short, _very_ short. It was a military cut she had seen in the troops that had passed through her former home in Lothering. It contrasted greatly with the long, flowing locks the other nobles sported. The Warden had a gaunt, grim face and eyes that were better suited for a corpse.

Hawke held out her hand. She was dreading this. All night these fancy pants lords had grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. She thought she was getting a rash.

Thankfully the Warden didn't kiss her hand; instead he shook it as firmly as if she was one of his soldiers. "Champion. You have _no idea _how good it is to see another Ferelden. Your city has no love for our people, though they seem to have made an exception for you."

"Oh, you know how it is," she laughed, rubbing the hand he shook. "Stab a few Qunari, save everyone from certain death, and suddenly you're not so bad."

Aedan nodded and caught a glimpse of a wooden staff sparking with enchantment to the Champion's left. It was nearly buried by the noble's expensive gifts. He indicated it with a quick gesture. "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

"What?" Hawke didn't notice that Aedan was pointing at her father's staff. She quickly stammered in response, "I didn't _say_ I wanted to see it! Did I? Did I say that_ out loud_? Well, that _is_ something I would do...never mind, man, _keep it in your pants_!"

Aedan stared at her while Cyril coughed into his fist uncomfortably. The Warden clarified slowly, "I _meant_ if you show me the staff you killed the Arishok with, I'll show you the blade I slayed the Arch-demon with. And I think it would be best for everyone if I kept my pants on."

Ah. Well, this couldn't get any worse. "Right. _Right_." She quickly grabbed her staff and handed it off to him. In return she received a sword and her hand dipped at the unexpected weight. She recognized the Cousland insignia on the hilt as she traded weapons with him again. She quickly placed her staff back with the rest of her things.

"So, uh," Hawke began pleasantly. "Did you bring me a present?"

* * *

"When is this bloody line going to _move_?" Cartier's patience was the last to break. He grumbled a bit more and then blinked when he noticed Sienna and Aedan were staring at him.

"Cartier, did you just use 'bloody' in a sentence?" Aedan looked smug. "You're becoming more and more Ferelden the longer you stay with us. Imagine that."

"Maker, _no_," Cartier whispered. "Don't say that so loud!"

Sienna began chanting. "One of us, one of us, one of-"

"_Introducing, the Hero of Ferelden, ambassador and chancellor-"_

Aedan snapped his fingers at the two of them. "That's us. Let's move out." He drew Edith to his side and made his way quickly down the aisle. There was no time to be wasted. He hadn't eaten anything all day in preparation for the banquet he planned to stuff himself at and his stomach was protesting that not so wise decision.

He made a beeline straight for the Champion. It was strange to see someone look so deadly in a dress. Well, Anora had pulled it off, too. Hawke's head was held high and she was glaring down at him from atop the flight of stairs that separated the throne from the main floor.

After quickly climbing the short steps, Aedan saw her outstretched hand and shook it firmly. "Champion," he greeted her. "You have _no idea _how good it is to see another Ferelden. Your city has no love for our people, though they seem to have made an exception for you."

The Champion smirked, her laugh lines betraying that this was an often event. She made some kind of joke and later thought he was trying to make some sort of innuendo. Damn, Isabela had _not_ been lying when she had said bad jokes and puns were Hawke's preferred method of communication.

Aedan quickly mended the situation and, hoping to move him along, Hawke outright demanded her gift. Someone else may have considered it rude, but Aedan shared her wish to get things going quickly. The man making all of the announcements, a seneschal, smacked himself in the face when she did that but they all tried to ignore him.

"Right. Squire," Aedan motioned to the girl to step forward. Edith knelt before the Champion, which was unnecessary in Aedan's opinion but he didn't correct her, and presented her with a small wooden jewelry case. Hawke's left eyebrow raised curiously.

"It's small. Is this one of "it's not the size that matters, it's what you do with it" sort of things?"

Aedan sighed. "I would suppose so, my lady." He went on to explain what the box contained but she cut him off. She apparently loved to talk.

"Don't 'milady' me. You haven't seen me dance yet." Hawke reached down and plucked the box from Edith's hands. She opened the box and pulled out the item with a confused expression. "Wait. Is this a _tiara_?"

Aedan quickly corrected her. He did not want it thought that he had given the Champion a Maker damned crown. "_Technically_, it's a circlet. It was worn by mages in the Imperium a long time ago."

Hawke turned to Aedan, a frown creasing her face. She held up the frosted silver circlet in the air so the rest of the crowd could see what Aedan had presented her with. "They wear this in Tevinter?" Her hatred for the Imperium was obvious in those five words. Aedan was surprised. Tevinter was an awful place from what he knew, but he would have thought a mage would feel a little bit differently about it.

"They _used_ to wear them. The Magisters wear really ugly hats now." Sienna had stepped in to explain in a voice so quiet that only she, Aedan, and the Champion could hear her. "I found this on a statue in the Circle. I stole it."

Aedan slowly turned to her, all humor gone from his face. "Stole it?" _You let me give the Champion stolen property?!_

She was indignant. "They were going to _kill _me! And all it was doing was collecting dust! I took it with us when you recruited me and I've kept it buried outside the Keep. I knew you would take it back if you found out I had it, and it was such a shame to let it rot in the ground..."

Aedan faced Hawke, seething and embarrassed, only to find her grinning maniacally down at him. "This was from the _Ferelden Circle_? And you _stole_ it? I have _stolen Circle property_?" She laughed and jammed the circlet down on her short, blue-black hair. "My father would have approved. Thank you."

He blinked. It seemed Isabela had not been exaggerating. The Champion was unpredictable. "Ah, well, that was certainly not my intention, but if you have no objection to being given a stolen gift..." His mind raced, trying to handle the situation as diplomatically as he could.

"Do you have any idea how many bodies I loot in a day?" The Champion had definitely said that too loudly. "I have no problem with it. And you're the bloody _Warden_. What are you doing apologizing to anybody?"

He couldn't help but smirk back at her. "I don't usually. And here, let me fix that." The way she had put on the tiara-_dammit, circlet_- had messed up her hair, causing it to stick up in places he suspected weren't meant to. Aedan pulled the circlet off and quickly readjusted it, taking care of the few strands of hair that refused to stay down. "There. It's enchanted so that it won't fall off during battle."

Hawke stared down at him quizzically. "Why in the Void would I wear it into battle?"

"It allows the wearer immunity to certain abilities..." He lowered his voice a bit more. "Abilities known to the templars, if you understand my meaning."

Aedan saw the Champion's eyes flash. She understood. Immunity from templars would be coveted by any mage, even one that was named Champion of a city and should therefore have nothing to fear.

They had taken too long. The Seneschal stepped forward and dismissed the guests to the dining area.

* * *

Hawke watched the Warden leave with the others as Bran stepped next to her. He spoke to her quietly, so Cyril would not overhear, "I'm surprised you handled that so well, considering your prior reaction to the mere mention of the man."

He was trying to get a rise out of her. Amateur. Hawke chuckled, shrugging. "Well, I decided if I kick his ass in a bar fight I won't be _nearly_ so starstruck. Sound like a plan?"

Bran turned an unhealthy shade of red. He started sputtering and spitting, but all she heard was something about a 'political maelstrom'. That all sounded like his problem, not hers. Hawke extended her hand to Cyril and nodded towards the dining area. "Be a good escort and lead the way, will you? Or perform a lap dance. It's your choice. You decide what kind of escort you want to be."

Those words did not help Bran's state of mind at all.

The dining room had one of those long rectangular tables that Hawke had fantasied about. Not eating on them with a bunch of nobles around. No, her dreams involved a much _different_ use of the table. A use she decided was best to keep to herself or save for any future partners.

On her left was Duke Prosper, who was seated right next to Cyril, his son. The Warden was on her right (without his guards, they were eating in a different room) and Varric was seated next to him. Hawke knew Varric better than to think that particular seated arrangement had been random happenstance. The dwarf was either there to keep her from making a fool of herself or just to watch what would inevitably happen and then write on it later.

Like his son, Duke Prosper's favorite subject was hunting, but he sounded much more experienced at actually hunting than Cyril. All Cyril had talked about were the banquets that occurred after a hunt. Hawke only interrupted Prosper once.

"What in Thedas is a _wveryn_?"

"It's similar to a dragon," Varric prompted, just to keep the conversation going. Hawke shot him another suspicious glare. What was his angle for being there? She saw a few of her other companions at the banquet as well. Sebastian was seated down the table with the other Starkhaven nobles. Aveline and Donnic were back and forth, checking on the other guards every five minutes. Anders had been very clear that with the Wardens attending that he needed to make himself scarce. Merrill and Fenris hadn't shown up, but she couldn't really blame them. Being mistaken for a manservant or waitress was an embarrassment she would have avoided as well. Isabela had already left with some, or a few, lucky nobles that had no idea that the next morning they'd wake up robbed and without pants. Eh, they could afford it. Hawke caught herself and attempted to follow the conversation.

"They make for an excellent hunt. You should join us sometime, Champion." Duke Propser produced a fancy looking invitation that was handed to him by one of the servants. "Chateau Haine is one of the finest hunting grounds you'll ever experience."

Hawke took the invite, trying to seem enthusiastic. "Oh...I'll have to try to find some time for a vacation. You know Kirkwall, _always_ on the brink of utter destruction."

His grace smiled weakly at that. "Oh, and I would have had an invitation made for _you_, Warden, but I was not made aware that you were going to be here tonight."

"Don't worry, your grace," Aedan replied, sneaking a glance at the Champion. "I've had more than my fair share of giant lizards trying to eat me."

"I see." Duke Prosper pursed his lips and went on to tell Hawke about Cyril's last hunt and how it had gone down. She might have been more impressed if she knew what a wveryn even _was_.

* * *

Hawke ate only the soup, because the soup spoon was the only utensil she was absolutely sure of. The Warden, however, ate everything that was placed in front of him. He even had the nerve to eye her plate and she knew if they were anywhere else he might have just snatched her plate from her. She had seen the same look in Carver many a time before.

Of course, she had been allowed to set Carver's pants on fire. Well, her father hadn't so much as allowed it as told Carver that if he kept stealing his sister's food something bad would happen and Marian had decided that good old karma needed a little help. At any rate, she couldn't do the same to the Warden. Not with so many witnesses about.

Bran made another announcement and from years of tuning him out Hawke missed what he said. All she knew was suddenly everyone was leaving the table, some gaudy, awful music was being played, and all the Orleasians were on the dance floor and were hopping about like drunkards. Hawke stood up and backed away from them. "What are they, possessed?"

Bran appeared at her back, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They're dancing. As you should be." He tried to give her a light push but she wouldn't budge.

"Oh, I don't fucking _think_ so." There was no way she was hopping around like that. She may have lived in Kirkwall for years now, but she was still Ferelden to the core.

"Language," Bran scolded her. "These people think you're a lady."

"No," Hawke retorted instantly. That was far from true. She had seen the looks the other 'ladies' had given her. Had heard the whispers. _The qunari called her 'worthy'. What had she done to earn those monsters' respect? _"I'm just the freak of the week for them. Don't think I don't know that."

"Fine." Bran had tired of her rather quickly. "But you must act as though you don't. And dance."

She nodded reluctantly. "I'll play the part for you, don't worry. I'm a _wondrous_ actor."

"How nice. Too bad you're dancing skills aren't wondrous in any sense of the word."

He ran away before she could pinch him. Bastard.

* * *

Maker, this was undignified. Aedan was hiding in the kitchens, trying to stay out of the servants' ways as they cleaned dishes and put away leftover food. He received a number of strange looks, but really what choice did he have? Dulce had headed his way the instant the music had begun and there was no way he was doing that moronic, new dance.

And especially not with Dulce. She was mean.

Damn. How long had he been hiding? The song had to be over by now...

Aedan straightened up and glanced about the room. A flash of white hair and dark skin moved past him, weaving in between the servants. From the man's stature Aedan knew he was an elf, but from the way the other servants regarded him Aedan also knew he didn't belong in the kitchens. Interesting.

Before he could think on it further, Cartier came in the retrieve him. "The dance is over. It's relatively safe out there now, Commander."

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Oh, Cartier, we _both_ know that's not true."

"Can't say I can disagree. Lord Cyril just twisted his ankle during that stupid dance. Maker, I can't believe I used to look forward to these things."


	8. Chapter 8: (Part 2) Orleasians, Darling

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 8: **Orleasians, Darling, You Get Used To It (Part 2)

**A/N:** Part two of the banquet! We're getting back to the action now, thank the maker. Also, thanks for all the reviews. I especially like hearing what parts made you laugh and that people are enjoying my OC's. So, thanks!

* * *

Hawke helped Lord Cyril limp off the makeshift dance floor as regally as he could manage, collapsing onto the bench Hawke had led him to. She eagerly plopped down next to him, accidentally jarring his twisted and swollen ankle. He bit back a cry and glared at her accusingly.

"Sorry, milord," she said without real regret. "It's really too bad you tripped and-"

"You mean you _stepped_ on me."

Hawke blinked at him as shocked as she could manage. "Oh, milord, did you hit your head when you tripped? I would _never_ _deliberately_ step on and break your royal ankle. Perish the thought."

Cyril's eyes squinted at her in suspicion. "I didn't think it was done deliberately. Not until now, at least."

"Oh, you poor, confused thing." Hawke patted his head like he was her mabari hound. "I guess I have no choice but to sit with you and miss out on all the dancing. And I do so love those strange, Orleasian dances." She sighed over dramatically. "Oh, darn it all. Well, at least you have me for company, you lucky dog."

When Hawke turned to grin at Cyril she noticed a dark shadow pass over his pale face. Furrowing her brow, she searched for the source of the sudden eclipse.

"Champion," Aedan Cousland began cheerfully, towering over the both of them. "If you don't dance with me now I'm afraid I'll be left at the mercy of Lady Dulce." He tried a grin then, but Hawke knew when someone was faking. She did it all the time.

Cyril shot in, angrily, "She's staying with me." He wavered once he received the full effect of the Warden's dead eyed stare.

"I think," he began slowly, "that the Champion can answer for herself. So sit tight and shut up. I can't tell what you're saying with that bloody accent anyway."

Hawke had to hide a laugh. Cyril was turning bright pink. As the son of a Duke she doubted Cyril was talked down to often. Too bad. A lot of the nobles here deserved to be knocked down a notch. "I must confess, milord, I'm not much of a dancer."

The Warden grunted at that. "Don't "my lord" me. Just Cousland will suffice."

That was fine by her. She was tired of formalities. "Okay, Cousland. You'll have to lead, though. I'm at a loss here." She waved her fingers at Cyril in farewell. "Sorry, pet, but the dance must go on."

"But-but-but," Cyril called after her as Hawke led the Warden away. She didn't even look back. She was too busy trying to remember the dance steps Sebastian had taught her. Unfortunately she hadn't been able to concentrate then because every time she tried to look at her feet she had bloody Andraste staring up at her from Sebastian's crotch. Anders had been right to be disturbed by that.

"Warden," she started, but the man frowned down at her.

"I _said_ it's Cousland. Or Aedan. _Please_, don't call me 'warden'." His frown became a wry grin. "I feel like no one in Ferelden knows _how_ to address me so they just use 'The Warden'. I forget my own name half the time since no one uses it."

"I stitch my name into my underclothes. Can't forget it that way and it really comes in handy if you're in the habit of leaving your underclothes in strange places." Hawke noticed the ward-_Aedan _had led them to the edge of the dance floor. She assumed he was waiting for this dance to finish and the next to start. "Aedan, I wasn't lying when I said I can't dance. You're going to have to lead."

He didn't seem to mind. "I had an Antivan sister-in-law. She made me dance with her when my brother was away."

"My brother had a sweetheart. Peaches. I pushed her into a millpond when my brother was away." Hawke noticed the music was starting again. She gestured towards the other dancers. "Shall we?"

Aedan's mouth tightened. "Ah, I would love to, Champion, though I'm afraid this dance might be a bit..." He paused, clearly not wanting to offend. "It's rather complicated. I'm surprised they choose it, but then again I saw a certain dwarven friend of yours speak to the musicians as soon as he saw us together." He gave Hawke a moment to realize what he was implying.

"That _bastard_ wants to see me suffer. So he can _write_ about it." Varric thought he was some kind of puppet master, and he sort of was, but that gimmick was getting old.

"We could just skip this dance," Aedan offered, but he knew her answer before she gave it.

"No, no, no. We're going to do this." She couldn't let Varric see her back down. Instead she tugged on Aedan's arm until they were in the midst of the other dancers.

* * *

Aedan's mind raced, trying to remember all the steps to the current dance. It was of Antivan origin, which meant it was fast paced and extremely complicated. Oriana had taught him this particular dance (she had called it a tango, right?), but truly it was made for more...dextrous players.

The Champion was relying on him to lead, though, so he knew he had better deliver. At least he didn't have to worry about Cartier or Sienna being underfoot. He had just given them the night off and it had taken them both less than a minute to vanish into the crowd and leave him defenseless and alone. Such loyalty.

He took the Champion's ungloved hand and led her around, maneuvering for a place on the floor where they had enough room to avoid bumping into the other dancers. As soon as they had reached their intended place, however, the music began to speed up wildly. Aedan wasn't surprised to see that dwarf again (Varric, was it?) back with the musicians. Aedan knew the dwarf was responsible for the sudden, quickened pace, but he refrained from saying so to the Champion. Her head was bowed and staring at her feet as they moved around the floor. She stepped on him more than a few times, all of which she apologized for, but other than that there were no issues.

He knew he should have used this time to talk, to study her habits and reactions. It would come in handy, after all, if he was going to recruit her as a spy. But the idea of asking her to turn on her home, the city who had just named her Champion, made him angry and uneasy. If anyone asked him to do the same they would have found themselves on the ground. Or _in_ the ground, depending on his mood.

He felt restless. His eyes wandered about the room as his body recalled the steps he'd been taught years ago. It was then that he noticed that there was an awful lot of movement in the throne room, especially considering that most of the work should have been in either the dining room or the kitchens. For the first couple minutes of the dance he ignored it, trying to keep his attention on the Champion. But, curious as always, he slowly moved them closer to the throne room just in time to see several suspiciously dressed men pick up the remaining pile of the Champion's gifts and run off with them. "_Damnation_," Aedan swore, getting a stronger hold of the Champion's arms and pulling her off the floor and into the throne room. It took them a few minutes as a crowd had developed around them, but Aedan kept cursing and kept pushing through until they wound up back in the throne room. Alone. Whoever had been working in there so fervently had long gone. "Maker's balls," he murmured under his breath and he glanced about the room in a hurry. The Champion was less than impressed.

"Cousland! If you wanted to get me alone all you had to do was ask." The Champion _tsked_ him and jerked her hands away. "But, in all seriousness, what the fuck are you doing?"

In response to that, Aedan simply raised a finger to point at the suddenly empty area around the throne. "There's nothing there," he told her, waiting for her to realize.

"You brought me here to look at nothing?" She didn't sound impressed.

He actually growled at her: he had never been very patient.. The Champion flinched, no longer grinning. "Can you stop being so flippant and _think_? I know others like you; you use sarcasm to seem undependable."

She gasped over dramatically. "Hey, I'm _always_ like this and I _still_ had to fight an oversized Qunari. People depend on me because I _really_ _am_ a walking pun machine..._and_ _where the fuck did all my stuff go?!_"

Aedan brought his hands together in mocking applause. "And my lady finally gets it. Someone's run off with all your shiny presents. What are you going to do about it?" He knew he should probably stop taunting her, though the Champion didn't seem at all fazed or irritated by it. He also shouldn't have accepted every glass of wine the servants had passed him. But, damn if it didn't help with having to listen to Dulce.

_"__They took my father's staff."_

The Champion's voice was hardly above a whisper. Aedan's eyes snapped to her face, his good, drunken humor gone. He couldn't stop himself from saying, "We'll get it back." When he saw the faint glimmer of hope her eyes held for approximately two seconds, he regretted his words. His time in Ferelden should have taught him that making such promises never worked out in the end.

* * *

Hawke was seeing red, only red. The shit those nobles had given her...she could care less what happened to that pile of crap. But her _father's staff_ had been in that pile of crap. She definitely cared what happened to _that_.

She turned to Aedan who was looking at her in an almost concerned way. "This was planned."

"Yes." He nodded and looked towards the exit. "I glimpsed a rather large crew working on this while we were dancing. They can't have gone far, not with that much cargo. What are their possible escape routes?"

She knew that answer instantly. As an apostate she knew the first thing to learn about a new home was how to escape it. That thought might have made her sad at one time but not anymore. "There are three options given how much cargo they're trying to move. One," she held up a single finger. "They head to the docks. Two, they travel using the undercity. And finally, they go out the main gates and into the Wounded Coast. I really doubt they'd risk the mountains on account of the Dalish."

He nodded in agreement and even in a little bit of approval. "Your logic is sound. I would suggest alerting your friend, the Guard-Captain. But this is your city and I will follow your lead."

Hawke moved to find Aveline before something about his words made her turn around. "You'll follow my lead? Meaning you'll help me get my father's staff back?"

"Oh, I wouldn't let you go without me." He seemed eager, too eager, but Hawke supposed the Warden would _have_ to be a tad bloodthirsty seeing how much trouble he got himself into. "There's no way I'm standing around here with the stuffed shirts while there's work to be done. Not even if the Maker himself demanded it." Aedan showed off his blade and gestured to the adjacet room. "Get the Guard-Captain. Have her and her guards cover two of the exits. I'll help you cover the third."

Hawke nodded and ran off to find Aveline and Donnic. Speaking quickly to them she explained the situation in hushed tones and with a few curses.

"I could give a damn about the rest of the stuff," Hawke admitted to her large, ginger friend, "but Malcolm's staff? That is _not_ leaving this blasted city while I'm alive."

Aveline frowned before ordering her husband to take a few guards to the city gates and keep anyone from exiting that way. Kirkwall's entrance would be the easiest to guard, Hawke and Aveline both knew that. The docks and the undercity, though? _Much_ more difficult to manage.

"I'm going to find Varric," Hawke announced to Aveline.

"Woah!" The Guard-Captain stopped her right there. "We need to decide where we're going to look for your staff."

"My father's staff. I'm just borrowing it." Aveline didn't bother trying to tell Hawke that you couldn't borrow from the dead seeing as you could never actually give it back to them. "And I think I'll search the undercity. Just after I grab Varric...and the Warden."

"_What_?" Aveline's cry was ignored as Hawke raced away, searching the crowd for the only dwarf among them.

* * *

He felt like an ass. Aedan hadn't expected Hawke to feel much loss over the noble's gifts so he hadn't broken the news of their theft to her lightly. He _should_ have, but he had all but forgotten about her father's damned staff. He still carried around his family sword; he knew how important an object can be when everything else is taken away.

Pushing those thoughts away, he searched the room for his warden. Oh, and for his squire, Edith. Damn, she spoke so little he nearly forgot about her. At any rate he reached Sienna first.

"Where's Cartier?" he asked her, tapping his fingers rapidly against his thigh.

She shrugged in response. "You said we were off-duty. I think he went home with a couple of the serving girls."

"Damn. Well, you're back on duty. We'll have to go without Cartier..." Aedan paused suddenly and sputtered, "What do you mean 'a _couple_ of the serving girls'?! That suave, Orleasian _bastard_."

"Yes, well, I wasn't invited either so don't feel too left out."

Aedan decided to forget that as soon as he heard it. He looked for the Champion and saw her practically dancing on her toes in obvious impatience. "Let's move."

He greeted her quickly, taking mental stock of his weapons. He wore a sword that was more ceremonial than anything, but it still had bite. He had couple boot knives, too. No shield, though. That was an issue for a later time. To Aedan's surprise Edith was already standing with the Champion, poised and ready to go. That saved him the trouble of having to hunt her down. "What's the plan?"

"The guards are taking care of the main gate. They'll stop the thieves if they try for the coast. That leaves the docks and the underground passages." Hawke didn't seem at all fazed that Aedan and the Guard-Captain were putting her in a position of command. "Aveline," she turned to the captain. "You and a few of the guards still left head for the docks. Varric and I will head for the undercity."

Varric grunted. "Great. I just bought these boots. I was hoping to have them for at least a week before stomping through mud and shit, but, hey, what can I do?"

Aedan ignored that. "Warden Sienna, go with the Captain. They should have a mage with them." He smiled wickedly. "Just remember, here we're fighting men, not darkspawn. Try to refrain from tearing off limbs or decapitating them, if you would."

"As you command, Commander." She grinned stupidly at him before inching over to join Guard-Captain Aveline.

Edith gave him a glare to remind him that he would not order her away so easily. "Champion, my squire and I will follow you." Bending down to retrieve one of the knives in his boots, Aedan offered it to the Champion. "Seeing as they took your staff, you are welcome to have this."

The Champion shook her head, a faint ghost of a smile gracing her features. "I've already got that covered, milord." Grabbing a hold of the bottom of her dress, the Champion pulled up her skirt well past her mid-thigh to reveal a wicked looking blade strapped to her leg. She unlatched it and dropped her skirts and Aedan suddenly realized he had been staring.

Looking away quickly, he also realized the Champion must do an ungodly amount of walking in order to have such toned calves and thighs.

"Shall we move on before they make off with all my shit?" the Champion asked, hopping on one bare foot while she tried to pull her other shoe off. She gestured comically to her skirts. "Good thing I'm used to fighting in robes, eh?"

* * *

Now barefoot and armed, Hawke set off for the nearest exit. She cursed again the fact that Sebastian was no longer there, having left early to help Elthina with some humble, but very important Maker damned task. At any rate, she still had Varric. And evidently the Warden as well. That had to count for something.

_He looked at your legs._

Some stupid, troublesome part of her subconscious decided to bring _that_ little tidbit up. She needed to focus on getting the only family heirloom she cared about back. What did it matter now if he looked?

_He stared is more like it._

Another, more logical part of her mind cut in. _Of course he did! None of those fancy, Orleasian ladies would have hiked up their skirts like that! Everyone was staring; you only noticed he was because you were staring at him!_

Realizing this logical part was actually right, Hawke felt a lot better about the situation. Granted, now she had to concentrate on tracking down a den of thieves in Darktown, but, hey, that was any normal Tuesday.

Her current team consisted of herself, Varric, the Warden's squire, and the Warden himself. It seemed a good mix. One mage (though, without a staff), one rogue, and two swordsmen from what she could tell. What the Warden's actually abilities other than swordplay were, Hawke had no idea. They'd come to surface soon enough, she was sure. _Hopefully_ when she wasn't too close to him.

Aveline would been fine on her own. She had a warden looking after her. Hawke worried about Donnic at the main gates, but Aveline seemed sure of his abilities. Considering how many times she had had to rescue him, Hawke didn't share her confidence.

The quickest entrance to the undercity was in Darktown. There was another in the docking area, but Hawke knew Aveline well enough to know she would take care of that entrance. Hawke led her odd party to Darktown, wondering if it would be worth it to grab Anders along the way. She quickly decided against it, however. The Warden, Aedan, would sense what he was and Hawke didn't care to open that particular can of worms.

The only light in Darktown at night came from small torches or campfires, as well as a few magically lit lanterns. Despite all that, it was still a difficult place to maneuver. She heard Aedan snort behind her and say, "This is just like the bloody Deep Roads. Some vacation this is turning out to be."

"They told you Kirkwall was an ideal vacation destination?" Varric asked, chuckling. "What else did they sell you?"

"A couple of acres in the Deep Roads," was the equally sarcastic answer. "Of course, it's all infested with darkspawn and rot, but they knew I was in to that sort of thing."

Hawke ignored them both, though she did _so_ love eavesdropping on witty party banter. The squire had grabbed her arm and pointed to their left. Tucked away in one of the corners was a man trying to stuff several objects into an overstuffed sack. Every time he fit something new in, something else would fall out. It was a highly aggravating dilemma.

Hawke decided she'd have to help him with that.

"Oooh, what's this?" she asked, creeping up next to him and grabbing the newest item to tumble out of his big bag of surprises. "It's awfully shiny for Darktown."

"It's mine!" was his stupid and cliché reply.

Snapping her fingers, Hawke called a tiny ball of light into existence. Already he was shirking back from her in fear. Good. "Forged for the Champion of Kirkwall," she read the engraving on the small dagger he had dropped. "Odd. I thought _I_ was the Champion of Kirkwall. I'm going to be _awfully_ embarrassed if I've been wrong about that this whole time."

She looked around the thief, searching for any sign of her staff. No such luck. His sack wasn't long enough to hold a staff, anyway.

"Warden?" Hawke motioned for Aedan to move in closer. He had been watching her work and was waiting for a chance to step in. He'd get that now. "This man doesn't have my staff, _but_," she stressed that 'but' heavily, "he may know where the rest of my things are being taken."

"I agree." Aedan stepped in next to her, helping to back the thief further into the corner. "I would bet that our man here is supposed to be catching up with his fellow degenerates. _Aren't you?_"

The thief was pale, heavy, and stupidly loyal to his friends. "I worked alone."

Well, that definitely meant he hadn't. Varric told him harshly from the back of the group, "Then you'll _hang_ alone. How does that sound?"

"I believe I can speed this up," Aedan announced loudly. He moved past Hawke without waiting for her approval or disapproval and shoved the thief face first onto the ground. Taking one of the thief's arms behind his back, Aedan used one boot to put pressure on the limb. Jerking the arm up while pressing downwards, he said threateningly, "Tell us where you're meeting the others before I break your-"

_Crack_.

"Whoops." The thief screamed and Aedan released him quickly, letting the now broken arm fall. He simply stared down at the thief guiltily before he met Hawke's amused eyes. "I _may_ have underestimated my strength, though in my defense I'd like to say that darkspawn are harder to break."

"Whoops?" Hawke repeated his words in disbelief. "Just..._whoops_?"

Aedan shook his head and cursed. He reached for the thief's remaining arm. "Okay, let's be a little quicker next time. Or else I break this arm, too."

They got the information they needed. The thieves were using a hidden passageway in Darktown to get to the part of the undercity that led to one of the Lowtown foundries. The plan after that had been to hide in the area underneath the foundry until the hunt for them died down. Then they'd head for the docks for a ship to take them to Antiva, where they could sell their stolen goods.

After hearing his story, Edith then suggested they hogtie the thief and leave him with Tomwise, just in case he was lying about the location of the meeting place. Hawke let the squire take care of that. She was too busy holding her sides as her body heaved with laughter. When Aedan asked her what was so damn funny, all she could choke out was, "_Whoops_."

Hawke stopped laughing when it hit her where the thieves were headed.

A man named Quentin had once inhabited that area.

And, for a very short time, her mother had, too.


	9. Chapter 9: Finding What Still Remains

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 9: **Finding What Still Remains

**A/N: **Annnd we're back. There's quite a bit of fighting in this chapter, I'm glad to say. And to warn you, it's a very Aedan heavy chapter. I'll even it out as we go on, don't worry. As always, I love reading everyone's feedback so feel free to comment or ask questions!

* * *

The Champion was moving with a new purpose, her laughter dying out as she lead her ragtag team through Darktown and into the passage the thief had mentioned. Aedan wasn't sure of the significance this area underneath the Lowtown foundry had, but it meant _something_ to the Champion. The dwarf, Varric, had stopped looking so sunny when the place was mentioned. Even the Champion's mood had soured and her sentences where short, to the point, and completely void of puns. And though Aedan knew her very little, even he knew that this was odd behavior for the mage.

"Do you know where we're going?" Aedan whispered to his squire, Edith. As a true Kirkwaller, she would know the town better than he.

"Where we shouldn't." Edith, Aedan had soon learned, was highly superstitious. He didn't mind it. Her fears didn't make her paranoid as they did some; they only made her careful. And he liked careful. "A blood mage lived down here." When Aedan didn't seem properly spooked by that, she added menacingly, "He killed women down here. Chopped them up. And then put them back together, but not always in the right order."

Well, that was not normal. Blood magic, Aedan had his own reasons as to why he wasn't _that_ disapproving of that particular school of magic, but murder was in excusable. Always. He was glad that his time in Ferelden hadn't been enough to break him of that way of thinking. There were too many with his kind of power that thought nothing of the deaths of strangers.

"He's dead now." The Champion's voice came from the front of their line. There was something wrong about it, her tone. She seemed...off. "_Very_ dead. Burned alive with his ashes scattered to the wind sort of dead. So there's nothing to worry about. Unless you're allergic to human ashes. Then try not to breathe too deeply."

Varric barked out a short, worried laugh. Good. Aedan was glad to see that he wasn't the only one to notice something wrong with the Champion.

It wasn't too long before the narrow, dark tunnels of Darktown opened up to a larger room, entered via a short stairway. From their vantage point, Aedan could see men moving around, some sitting, but all were surrounded by bags and crates filled with the Champion's gifts. The thieves seemed to be unaware of their presence. Pleased by their situation, Aedan turned to suggest to the Champion that they spring an ambush. A flash of blue raced past his face and he whirled around in time to see the Champion sprint by him and jump down in the middle of the thieves' nest.

Weaponless, the Champion straightened up to her full height and shouted to the thieves quickly surrounding her. "_Which one of you assholes has my staff?!"_

Though Aedan was irked that she had thrown away their chance of having the upper hand, he was pleased that the Champion at least gave the thieves a chance to answer her before she slammed her tiny fist into the ground, sending seismic waves in circles around her. The thieves fell back, giving Aedan time enough to shout some instructions to his squire.

"Edith! Leave as many as you can alive!" When she rolled her eyes Aedan grabbed her arm, giving her a light shake. "We are not the Law. These are not darkspawn. If you can spare a man, do it. But don't put yourself in harm's way. Understand?" They'd talk about the eye rolling later. Well, he would talk. She'd be running. Or doing push-ups. Or whatever grueling exercise he could come up with to fairly punish scoffing at the idea of sparing men.

"I understand," Edith replied quickly. "I just thought...I don't think the Champion shares your unique...tactics."

He wanted to ask her about that, but the thieves had recovered and were on the attack, throwing themselves at the Champion and her crew with a desperate fervor that shocked even Aedan. The Champion needed back up and soon. She was fending them off with the blade she had hidden up her skirts and with spells, but their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm her.

As Aedan leapt down into the fray, Varric called out to him, "I got you covered, Warden!"

_Again_ with the Warden bit. He had a bloody name. Aedan took out his sword and dealt with the two thieves nearest to them, blocking their attacks and then swiftly disarming them. One of them stepped back while the other charged him, arms raised and screaming. Surprised that even a criminal would act so recklessly, Aedan let him get close, ducking the first swing before he took out the thief's knee with a kick. Aedan dropped him for good by driving the hilt of his sword into the back of the fallen man's head. He was still alive, but he wouldn't be causing anymore trouble.

Varric took care of the other man, giving Aedan a quick brake. He took this time to look around, try to see if he could spot the Champion's staff. As the Champion's lightning lit up the dark cavern, he found it.

One of the thieves, upon learning what the Champion was after, was grabbing the aforementioned staff and trying to escape with it. The Champion saw him, too, but she was too preoccupied to do anything about it. She was busy keeping herself from getting stabbed. "Champion, I'm on him!" Aedan yelled to her and she startled, almost getting slashed in the process. His voice was loud, even with the sounds of fighting and screaming. He was too used to having to shout orders to his wardens during battle.

The staff was getting away from him. Glad that he wasn't wearing his usual heavy armour, Aedan chased after the thief, following him into one of the shady side passages. Halfway into one of these narrow tunnels, another man might have felt out of his element. But Aedan had explored Deep Road caverns that were darker and filled with more frightening things than simple rogues.

The thief didn't count on Aedan being a warden, he had fully expected to have the advantage in the deepest parts of Darktown. He was waiting for Aedan in the shadows, thinking himself hidden, but Aedan's eyes were accustomed to low levels of light.

Using the staff as a weapon, the thief lunged at Aedan, forcing him to jump backwards. It wasn't far enough, however. The blunt end of the staff caught Aedan in the stomach, winding him. Now he was regretting his lack of armour, instead of praising it.

The staff was coming around for another strike. Aedan threw himself against one of the walls, using it to steady himself and catch his breath. Things would be much easier if he could have brought his damn shield to dinner. Right now Cartier was probably in the skirts of several well endowed servant girls, the bastard.

"Fuck!" The expletive slipped out, causing Aedan to curse again. And he had been doing so well, playing the part of the well mannered noble. The bad habits he had picked up on the road and during his current stint as a warden were taking over. At any rate, he had a bloody good reason for swearing. One of the thief's stabs had caught Aedan upside the head, tearing through his hair and causing blood to slowly drip down his temple.

Had he been wearing his bracers, Aedan would have been able to block the swing with an arm. _Maker_, he hated being unprepared. Well, he certainly wouldn't waste blood, especially not his own. Drinking it in, Aedan recovered his strength and waited for the staff's movements to slow down. Once he had an opening he was able to get a hold of the staff's end, yanking it away from the thief and successfully turning the tables.

_This is a good weight_, Aedan thought, testing out the staff with a few experimental stabs at the now unarmed thief. It was heavier than he expected, but he recalled that it had been made for the Champion's father, not the Champion herself.

Suddenly the thief raised his hands in surrender, a move that made Aedan pause and back up a few steps. The thief looked surprised that Aedan hadn't just speared him anyway. "You're _not_ going to kill me?"

Aedan's brow knitted together. Something was wrong here. "You yielded. I'm not going to strike you down as if you hadn't."

"Who are you? Is Hawke picking up even _more_ murdering freaks?" He laughed brokenly.

Aedan decided not to answer that, which was a smart move because he had no idea _how_ to respond to it. "Get out of here," he barked, gesturing with the staff. He added on a hunch, "Preferably before the Champion catches up to us."

The thief turned and ran, disappearing down the dim tunnel and out of Aedan's sight. Waiting another moment to make sure the thief wouldn't come running back and catch him off guard, Aedan readjusted his grip on the staff and started back the way he came.

* * *

He was in no way a stranger to gore or violence, but the scene before him alarmed him regardless. The Champion, her dress ripped and torn and dripping dark bodily fluids, sat atop a crate, her legs dangling over the edge. The bodies of the thieves were scattered around her, all in various states of decay. All dead.

Quickly looking to his squire for an explanation Aedan found Edith would not meet his eyes.

"You got it?" The Champion dropped down from her perch and ran over to him. "My staff! Hand it over,_ hand it over!_" she instructed, her hands reaching out to him.

_Not a single one left alive, apart from the one I spared. _His jaw set, Aedan was oblivious to the Champion's yammering. Slaying darkspawn was one matter, but this? He recalled his instructions to Edith and realized why she had rolled her eyes. She knew he was wasting his time. The Champion didn't leave survivors.

He felt a sharp tug and realized the Champion was trying to relieve him of her staff. He glanced down at his white knuckles and forced himself to relax, letting her tug her weapon free. He was angry, furious even, but his duty to Ferelden came first. He had accompanied the Champion on her wild goose chase in order to begin the task of recruiting her as a spy for Ferelden. That _and_ he was deathly bored. Getting angry at her now would only ruin the progress he had already made by retrieving her father's staff.

"Aw, it has a scratch in it. Bastards." The Champion was scanning her staff for flaws with a frown on her face. "I guess it gives it character," she finally said, shrugging nonchalantly. She looked to Aedan. "You're wounded," she realized, eyes widening. "I have a healer nearby if you need-"

"I'll attend to it later," he answered quickly, self-consciously feeling the shallow rip in his hairline. As a reaver, a small bleeding wound like this was actually more of help than a hindrance. "Wardens learn to be good with a needle."

She seemed to accept that. "Then I guess I should thank you, Cousland."

"You should, Champion." Maker, he needed to relax. She'd noticed something was wrong soon. Attempting a joke, he added, "But not here. Somewhere else where its sunny and filled with less dead people."

"That combination is hard to find in Kirkwall. But, Cousland, I'll see what I can do. And," she said, leading them all back up to the surface, "stop with the 'Champion' bit. We've fought together now, you can use my name."

Varric and Edith were hanging back, stopping every so often to gather Varric's bolts from the corpses. Waste not, want not.

"I never caught your name," Aedan admitted with a shrug.

"Uh," she looked insulted. "It's Hawke."

Aedan found he could fake a grin more easily than he had thought. The unnecessary carnage just down the tunnel was still fresh in his mind. "I heard everyone refers to you by your surname, but I already know a Hawke. Your brother is "Hawke" to me. Can I use your first name?" He waited for her response.

"That is..." She paused, searching. "That's different, but I'm Marian. And you know Carver?"

"Ah." No, he didn't 'know' Carver. Aedan had talked to him briefly after the boy had his joining, though their conversation had been a short one. All he could remember was that Carver was a bit of a git, but he'd probably grow out of it. Or at least he would if Aedan had any say about it. And as his commander he definitely _did_. "I know _of_ him. And _Marian_? That is _incredibly_ Ferelden." When she scowled he added quickly, "Don't look so peeved with me._ I _never called you 'farm boy'."

_What? _She formed the question silently with her lips before realization sparked in her eyes. "Oh, Maker, that hill giant was _you_? I never would have...I didn't mean..." Her excuses were so fleeting and desperate that Aedan's smile became more natural in his amusement. "It wasn't an _insult_. _I_ was a farm girl, once. Well, I never _really_ farmed. I more of got in the way of the people doing the actual farming. But you understand my meaning."

"It's of no matter, Hawkling."

She stopped dead in the street causing Aedan to bump into her. "_What did you call me?_"

He didn't immediately reply. They were out of Darktown and back into the somewhat familiar streets of Lowtown. At any rate Edith would be able to guide them back. While he waited for his squire to catch up, Aedan turned to back Hawke. "To _me_, _you're_ the 'little' Hawke. Hence, the Hawk_ling_." Aedan motioned for Edith to come to his side. She trotted away from the dwarf, thanking him for his assistance during the fight once more.

Hawke was staring at Aedan as if he had suddenly appeared from across the Veil and she was trying to figure out what kind of demon he was. "_Hawkling_?" she repeated as her friend Varric chuckled, obviously approving of the nickname.

He grinned. "Now what fun would it be if I called you what everyone else called you?" Bowing to her, he started towards Hightown with Edith. "Goodnight, Champion." It took all of his willpower to not look back to catch another glimpse of her dumbstruck expression.

* * *

"_I'm the little Hawke?!_"

Varric knew this was coming. Hawke was ranting, gesturing wildly with her newly reunited staff. "I'm the eldest! There's no way I could ever be considered the 'little' Hawke. Granted, I'll give him that Carver is taller, and heavier, and has that gloomy cloud of doom hanging over his head but I'm getting my own _statue_! Does the Hero of Ferelden have a statue? Uh, let me think...NO."

"It's a statue that looks nothing like you," Varric reminded her.

"It's still a damn statue. And if you vandalize it, Varric, I swear to the Maker I will go out of my way to make every mission we go on boring and mundane. What did Hawke do today, Varric? Oh, you know, she got some shoe shopping done and rescued a kitten."

"Pssh. As if I need actual events to inspire me," Varric joked and Hawke only smirked in return.

"Oh, I _know_ you do. What else would you need me for?" Her smile faded a bit. "Um, did you see how Ser I-saved-the-entire-world-so-I-think-I'm-hot-shit looked at me back there? It was like he's never seen dead bodies before." Raising her hands up in frustration, she continued, "And it's not like I had a choice. One of those guys back there tried to claw my bloody eyes out."

He shrugged. "You know how nobles and their sense of honor are. How many did you get anyway?"

"Only seven. That little squire of his was surprisingly quick."

"_Seven_? That would _almost_ be impressive if I hadn't nailed nine of the bastards to the wall. Literally."

* * *

Aedan needed to learn more about Hawke, that was certain. How many mercenaries just like her had he faced down in Ferelden? She was a champion in name, but that was it. She wouldn't be laying down her life for her city any time soon. Her defeat of the Arishok had probably been to her own advantage. Aedan sighed. He shouldn't speculate without more information. He was just still pissed at her for her stunt back in Darktown.

His long legs carried him up to Hightown, to familiar ground. Edith had adopted a neat little jog in order to keep up with him. Warden Sienna was waiting outside the Comte's mansion for her commander, Aedan was pleased to discover. That saved him the trouble of having to go find her. Wait, who was he kidding? It saved Edith the damn trouble; he would have handed off that chore to his squire in a heartbeat.

Over all Sienna seemed fine, a little dirty and tired, but unwounded. "How did your search go?" Aedan inquired, crossing his arms in front of his chest and giving her a serious look to let her know he expected an equally serious report.

She seemed happy enough to jump in, not bothering to censor her expletives as Aedan had come to expect from her. "It was _bollocks_. We didn't find shit and the whole time those guards were looking at me like I was going to set them all aflame at any minute." She sighed dreamily. "Oh, I've missed that look. Wardens aren't quite so gullible as templars and normal people. I used to mutter nursery rhymes in Arcanum around the new templars just to watch 'em soil their armor. Good times," she said, cracking her neck to one side. "Did _you_ find anything other than disappointment?"

"Marian Hawke resembles a _mercenary_ more than a _champion_," he revealed to her with a tight frown. "I've yet to determine if that is for the good or ill of this mission."

"Mission?" Sienna echoed needlessly. "We attended the banquet. I thought that was the end of it." When Aedan didn't say any more she added questioningly, "Sir?"

He spoke again, but didn't address her questions. "Is Cartier here?"

"Not yet."

"Do your cool down stretches before bed. Tomorrow morning I'm heading to the Chantry." Sienna grimaced. "Don't worry. You're staying here. And before you celebrate you should that you'll be tasked with guarding the Comtessa and her daughters while they shop."

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake."

Aedan thought about reprimanding her, but decided it probably wasn't worth it. Sienna was always going to be foul mouthed. Instead he brushed past her while she saluted him.

As he and Edith walked inside, he asked her, "Squire, if I wanted to know more about the Champion and her motivations, from a perspective that doesn't idolize her, where would I go?"

He gave her a moment to consider before he prompted her again. "Knight-Commander Meredith. She was with the Champion when the Qunari attacked. That and she gave Hawke her title."

Then it seemed his day was made. The Chantry and then the Circle. _Two of my favorite places_, he thought sarcastically. After instructing Edith to make sure she stretched and cooled down after the fight, he went inside his own room to do the same. He checked his head in one of the Comte's wall mirrors. It wasn't a deep gash, but he cleaned it and applied a healing ointment to the wound regardless. He even went as far to take a couple of swallows of healing draught for good measure. Once that was through he moved to the floor to stretch out his aching limbs. His ankles were bothering him more than usual. Grimacing, Aedan removed his boots and studied the scarred flesh, reminders of his not so nice first visit to Fort Drakon.

His stretching was interrupted when the Comte's butler handed him a letter from Vigil's Keep. He half expected it to be from Nathaniel Howe, stating that he didn't need to bother coming back, that the Keep was fine without him. As a result, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the letter contained a detailed progress report and a personal letter from Nathaniel. Aedan skimmed over the letter's contents, allowing himself a small smile when he read that the warden's were inquiring when he was returning. Not because Nathaniel was found lacking as a commander, they simply wanted to know.

Nathaniel also mentioned that Ohgren was _very_ insulted that Aedan didn't ask _him_ to be Warden-Commander over the Howe. He was so hurt, in fact, that Nathaniel wrote that he told Ohgren that Aedan needed him urgently in Kirkwall. Nathaniel finally added that the dwarf should be arriving roughly around the same time as the letter.

Aedan sat down on the edge of his mattress and dropped his head into his hands.


	10. Chapter 10: Taint Taint, Taint

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 10: **Taint, Taint, Taint

**A/N: **Um, because I'm lame I used EVE Online's character creator to make Aedan, Cartier, and Sienna sooooo if you want to see what they look like they're on my blog, vault-escape-artist under the tag "our-ghosts-are-the-same". I'd also include a link to it, but links never work on here so I really can't. Sorry.

Fuck, this chapter is long. As always your reviews make my fucking day. So thanks.

* * *

Hawke fell asleep in her chair, her father's staff uncomfortably positioned across her lap. Rebel, her mabari, was running in circles around her, chasing after dust or his own tail or whatever. His sudden spout of barking woke her and she jerked her head up so fast she felt as if she had just broken her own neck. Not the way she wanted to go out.

Rubbing her neck and groaning, Hawke headed for her doorway which was being filled up by the last person she wanted to see; the Seneschal.

"Who let _Bran_ in?" she moaned, looking around for someone to pin this on. "Maker, why are you here? Unless you need something decimated, like that awful wardrobe of yours, you should leave. I'd walk you home but...I really don't want to."

He didn't seem appreciative of her fashion advice. "Where were you all night?! You ran off, leaving your guests! Do you have any idea how _rude_ that was?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me." She sighed, knowing Bran's visit was going to be more unpleasant than usual.

"It was inexcusable. Kirkwall wasted precious funds on that banquet, funds we _could_ have spent on reconstruction!"

Then why was he yelling at _her_? She never asked for that damn banquet. She didn't even want to _go_. "Right... I see why you're upset. Why don't I show you to the door and you can spend a night at the Blooming Rose, on me. Just put it on my tab." Hawke started nudging him towards her door.

"You're mother would have been ashamed of you."

She froze, utterly taken aback. Would even Bran stoop so low? The Seneschal turned to face her, preparing for another scolding, and suddenly his head whipped back. Hawke was vaguely aware of a throbbing pain across her knuckles before she connected the dots. Maker, she had just punched the Seneschal in the _face_.

Sensing a fight, Rebel stopped playing and charged at Bran, causing the man to swallow whatever curse he had been ready to throw at Hawke and run out her door instead.

Well, it looked like Hawke would be getting a visit from Aveline tonight. Whether she wanted it or not.

* * *

_ Ohgren_ was coming to Kirkwall? Aedan loved that drunken, crazy bastard, but he was _not_ who Aedan wanted on a mission like this. It was too political. If Ohgren didn't have a darkspawn head to decapitate the dwarf would lose what was left of his mind. Aedan thought about it all the way to breakfast. Seriously, why couldn't Nathaniel send Sigrun instead?

It was early, really early in the morning. The Comte and Comtessa were still asleep and Aedan tried not to wake up the servants while he made breakfast. Sienna and Cartier were not happy about the early hour. Both of them were muttering curses as they sat down at the Comte's dining table and Aedan served them porridge, eggs, and whatever fruit was available. He had only been meaning to cook for himself, but every time he entered a kitchen he emerged with an entire bloody banquet.

_Oh, Maker, the banquet. _That night certainly hadn't gone down how he had planned. Running after thieves, _slaughtering_ said thieves... At least they had obtained their mission goal; retrieve the Champion's weapon. Even though last night she had shown that she had no qualms about jumping into a fight completely empty handed. She was more of a beserker than a mage. She and Ohgren would get along fantastic...if Aedan had any intention of letting the two ever meet. And he did not.

Edith ate her breakfast in silence, staring at Cartier who was sleeping on the table with his head in his arms. "Someone's fucking hungover," Sienna observed drily. Edith nodded her assent.

"I noticed," Aedan replied, going into the kitchen and retrieving one of the Comtessa's largest metal pots. When he returned he unceremoniously dumped the pot, letting it clatter loudly to the floor. Cartier's head snapped up from the table at the sound. "Commander, please-"

"Are you hungover, Cartier?" Aedan asked him icily. When one of the Comte's servants went to pick up the fallen pot, Aedan stopped him saying, "No, no. I dropped it. I'll get it." Aedan picked the pot up once more, held it out at chest length, and then let it slip from his fingers. "Damn. That was completely unintentional."

"All right, _Commander_, you made you're point." Cartier sat up, grumbling. It was amazing how he could make Commander sound like 'you little shit'. Aedan might have been his commanding officer, but Cartier had quite a few years on him.

"Eat fast. I want to make it to the Chantry before the crowd." Aedan quickly finished off his plate and used water from his water skin to wash it down.

Sienna was incredulous. "The Chantry has a _crowd_?"

* * *

Aveline arrived in the morning, as Hawke had expected, flanked by a few of her guards. Hawke glanced up at her from over her toast. Smirking, she asked, "How's Bran's face doing? He's rather pretty for a man, but not so much with a broken nose, I bet."

"Hawke," Aveline sighed heavily.

"If it makes you feel better I made sure he _really_ deserved it," Hawke offered with a disappearing grin.

Aveline took away her plate of toast, frowning. "That doesn't make it any better. The Seneschal is demanding you be punished. And I can't really argue with him, Hawke. You did attack him." Aveline looked apologetic, but Hawke simply shrugged it off.

"It's fine, Aveline. I'll just sit in your jail until someone bails me out." She paused, suddenly second guessing her brilliant plan. Her companions weren't exactly known for visiting her just for shits and giggles. "Nah, it'll work. One of them will need something eventually." She had her money on Varric being the one to come and bail her out. He had impeccably good timing.

"Then you know the drill."

Sadly she did. Hawke held out both of her arms and one of the new guards tied her wrists together. She sighed, "Lead the way, Aveline. Preferably before the Chantry crowd wakes up and sees me."

* * *

The scene Aedan, Cartier, and Edith saw on the way to the Chantry was odd, though _not_ surprising. The Champion was partially bound and was being escorted by a few of the city guards, the Captain of the Guard among them. He considered whether or not he should get involved. Cartier was asleep on his feet and Edith, honestly Aedan didn't know what was up with her. She was too bloody quiet for him to get a reading on her.

Shit. The Champion had caught him staring. She raised her bound wrists and wiggled her fingers at him. He couldn't just stand there _now_. Grimacing because he genuinely didn't want to be involved in whatever mess the Champion had got herself into (maybe those thieves had had families that missed them?), Aedan walked over to her and her keepers. Because he was dressed as a noble today, the guards stopped at his approach while their captain scowled at them for halting without orders.

"Hawkling," he greeted her, remembering at the last minute the name he had given her the previous night. "Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Oh." Hawke looked around at her escorts and then down at her tied wrists. "Well, I could see how it might look that way to the untrained eye. But, nah, I'm fine. No templars, no problems."

Aedan was far from convinced. "This isn't about last night, is it?" He looked to Aveline for answers. "If so, I'm afraid I was involved as well. If restitution is called for, I'll have to join the Champion." He went to go on to say that his squire should be pardoned since she was following his orders, but Hawke interrupted him.

Wide eyed, she laughed, "_You_ punched the Seneschal in the face, too?!"

"What? No!" Aedan stared at her. His first seneschal at Vigil's Keep had laid down his life for him. Evidently Hawke had not been so lucky with seneschals.

"Damn. _Someone_ should hit Bran again." It took Hawke a moment to realize that Aveline had been less than pleased by that statement. "Oh. No, Aveline, I meant I am _so_ sorry for what I've done and I'm ready to reenter society as a solid, reformed citizen."

"Shut it, Hawke. We both know when you're lying." Guard-Captain Aveline was reprimanding the Champion, but it was done in the most loving way possible. "If you'll excuse us, my lord."

Aedan nodded to them all as they headed on for the Keep. Hawke would probably need bailing out, but he was not sure he could justify using the Crown's gold for that. At least not until he learned a little more about Hawke to be more certain of her character.

It would be easier, he supposed, to recruit her as an agent if her moral compass was wayward. But for some reason he didn't want that to be the case.

He'd have plenty of time to contemplate why while he was in the Chantry. Nodding to his companions, Aedan led the way up the steep steps of the Chantry and went inside the first confessional he saw. Cartier had straightened up and knelt down in front of Andraste, fervently praying. Orleasians, as a rule, took their religion very seriously. Edith opted for waiting outside the confessional in order to guard her commander. Aedan only hoped she wasn't one for eavesdropping.

After a few minutes of waiting, a sister entered the other side of the confessional, her face obscured by the curtain between them. She started the rite and Aedan efficiently listed his sins, not bothering to add any unnecessary overtones of remorse to his words.

"I confess that I have been judgmental of a woman I know little about. I have also recently committed acts of violence against my fellow man, though I was acting in self defense and I personally ended no lives." He paused for a moment, reminiscing, before he informed her that he had nothing more to confess. She listened and gave him his penance; he had to recite sixteen verses from the Chant of Light. He frowned and bowed out. The sister at Vigil's Keep usually only gave him three verses to recite, knowing that he always had a lot to get done. He received no such courtesy in Kirkwall.

Trying not to think about all the time he was wasting, Aedan knelt down next to Cartier in front of Andraste's statue. He personally was unused to such unnecessary splendor and decoration in the Chantry's he had visited in Ferelden. Back home the Chantry was simple, carved from Ferelden wood, and filled with more people than it could properly care for. In Kirkwall everything was cut from stone and every crevice and corner boasted of the Chantry's wealth. Cartier probably felt right at home. Kirkwall was more similar to Orleais than it was to Ferelden.

Edith quickly made her way to her male companions, bending in half so she could whisper discreetly in Aedan's ear. "Ser," she began in hushed tones. "The Knight-Commander has arrived for her morning prayers."

"So mote it be." _Forget it_, he decided ruthlessly. _If I can make it through a meeting with this templar that'll be penance enough._ For someone who had no magical talent whatsoever Aedan still did _not_ get along with templars. Ah, perhaps that was unfair. He rarely got along with anybody.

Aedan sat behind the pew Meredith was occupying and waited for her to finish her morning prayers before he approached her.

* * *

"Isabela!" Hawke grinned at the pirate as she was pushed into the same jail cell Isabela was sitting cross legged in. Isabela let loose with a pleased, deep throated chuckle as Hawke had her bounds removed by one of the overworked jailers. "What are you in for?" she asked as Aveline began filling out the paperwork for her arrest.

"Public intoxication," Isabela shrugged.

Hawke nodded sagely. "That was me last week. This time I almost broke my fist on Seneschal Bran."

"_You fisted Bran?!_"

"Maker, no!" Hawke's color drained as Isabela fell over and laughed madly. "Don't say it like that! _What is wrong with you?_"

Aveline snorted dryly, "Well, she's in jail. That's one thing."

"Hey, _I'm_ in jail, too!"

"And there you have it."

Isabela shot another insult at Aveline and Hawke lied down on the dusty floor, trying to drown them both out. It was awhile before Hawke realized Aveline had stopped insulting Isabela and was now trying to talk to her.

"Hawke. _Hawke!_" Aveline was resorting to her exasperated hawke-i-swear-if-you-make-one-more-pun voice. "Where did you end up last night, anyway? We never rendezvoused."

Hawke squirmed and tried to sound as calm as she could. "The foundry."

"Oh, Kitten," Isabela began, but Hawke shook her head fervently.

"I'm _fine_, both of you," she added, looking to Aveline as well. "Granted, it wasn't pleasant, but there really _isn't_ a pleasant place left anywhere in Kirkwall." When Aveline didn't seem convinced Hawke added, "Oh, can you send in one of the _pretty_ guards to watch us this time? The last one you sent looked like he ran face first into a brick wall. Bert, was it? Yeah, don't send Bert."

Aveline shook her head. "If you want to avoid the subject, fine. Have it your way. But I'm sending in Bert to guard you."

Hawke and Isabela both groaned.

* * *

_ "_Knight-Commander," Aedan began once he was sure Meredith was finished with her prayers. Her blonde head turned round so she could scrutinize him fully in the bright, Chantry light. Aedan noted that while her blue eyes were bright and clear, there was quite a bit of grey creeping into her hairline. "If I could have a moment of your time, I would be much obliged."

She seemed hesitant, irked even, but she wouldn't say so. Aedan wondered if perhaps his reputation proceeded him. Not the slaying the Arch-demon bit, the recruiting Circle mages for grey wardens bit. That was the part the templars usually focused on.

Meredith nodded once. "I've been made aware of your presence, Commander," she told him, standing so she could lead him to one of the Chantry's small, private rooms. Once they were inside she added briskly, "And I have to inform you that none of our current Circle mages are fit to be Grey Wardens. They must be watched closely and I-"

He cut her off right there. "Commander Meredith, I'm not here for recruits." _Though_, he continued silently,_ that would make this trip less of a waste. _"This is more of a request for information, ma'am."

This seemed to surprise her, though Meredith still kept her suspicions. "What would you like to know?" Even if she didn't care to talk to him, and Aedan didn't blame her for that (he had killed a few templars in his time), she was still in the Chantry and had to be polite under the Maker's direct gaze.

"The Champion," he answered, finding a spot along the wall to lean against. "She's an apostate, you must have received various reports concerning her. What do you have to say about her character?"

"Her character? The Champion is similar to most apostates. You'll have to be more specific in your inquiries."

Aedan knew he didn't have much time before Meredith grew irritated and made some excuse to leave. "Why did she fight the Arishok? Was it for her city? Was she paid to do it?" He crossed his arms and waited for the commander to respond.

Meredith's eyes flashed. "I didn't give her a choice."

Oh. That was interesting. "I was under the impression that apostates didn't take orders from templars."

To his surprise Meredith actually laughed at that. It was a quick, unpracticed chuckle but it was a laugh all the same. "_That's_ what the Champion said when I enlisted her help. I more or less had to threaten her to join our ranks against the Qunari. Hawke may not be overtly loyal to Kirkwall, but she was fiercely loyal to her family. And when her family died out her loyalty switched to her ragtag team of companions."

Aedan prompted her, "So what you're saying is..."

"Hawke is not loyal to her city or homeland. She's loyal to people. A dangerous trait for an apostate to have," Meredith finished. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a Circle to oversee."

He bowed to her as she walked out. Hawke's sense of duty was not as idealistic as his own. She protected her own family and would never even consider sacrificing them for the "greater good". It was a way of thinking entirely different from his own. He had left his family to die, after all, all in the pretense of "it was best for Ferelden".

So Hawke was not completely loyal to Kirkwall or Ferelden. It would perhaps be possible to pay her for her services as a spy or figure out some other reward. Then he could get back to Amaranthine and actually accomplish something useful.

As Aedan found Edith and Cartier and lead them out, he caught sight of something that might help him be of service here. The Chanter's board.

Most of the Chantry's tasks were mundane, but Aedan studied the Chanter's board for any tasks that were suited for his current team regardless. There were a lot of posters for missing people, people that vanished during the Qunari's attack. As he was new to the city and to it's people, Aedan had to admit that he was currently unable to aid that lost cause. But there had to be something...

"Darkspawn!" he shouted a little too gleefully, shoving a notice under Cartier's face. "Spotted near the Dalish encampment." Even Edith startled at his sudden outburst.

Cartier was frowning, not a good look for him. "And yet you sound excited, Commander."

"Not excited," Aedan argued, rolling the notice up and placing it in his pack. "Eager to serve."

"Not to be insubordinate, Commander, but there's something wrong with you."

* * *

"You're bail has been paid," one of Aveline's less enthusiastic guards deadpanned, opening up Hawke's jail cell door. Isabela hopped up as well, but the guard growled, "Not you," and slammed the door shut. Hawke waved a hand nonchalantly at the still caged pirate. "Relax, I'll get whoever paid mine to pay yours. I'm _very_ persuasive."

Isabela saluted her as Hawke left to thank her generous sponsor. She had guessed Varric would be the one to get her out, or perhaps it would be Sebastian paying her way with a Chantry collection made in her name. But, no, surprisingly she was wrong. It was no one she had ever even seen before.

Hawke cocked her head to the side, saying, "Uh, hello, dwarf I'm fairly certain I don't know."

The red-headed dwarf stared up at her in confusion. It was a good five minutes before he actually spoke, having realized his mistake, "You're not the Warden."

"Noooo," Hawke sang, rocking back on her heels. "I am not."

"Sodding liars," the dwarf snarled under his breath. "They told me the Champion was in town and the Warden was in jail...Wait, scratch that. I may have reversed that." The dwarf scowled again, producing a flask from somewhere underneath his impressive beard. "It's probably this damn fruity Antivan liquor. It makes me foggy." As he said that he took another long drink before he offered some to Hawke. She declined it quickly.

Hawke was beginning to put the puzzle pieces together. Well, some of them. "You thought the Warden was in jail so you came to bail him out? What is he to you?"

"What? Can't you tell?" The dwarf seemed disappointed. "I'm a Grey Warden, girl, and the boy's my commander." When she didn't at once realize who he was, he growled, "I'm _Ohgren_. I was there when the Arch-demon fell? Ah, the pretty girls only ever remember Cousland, damn him."

"One of the Heroes of Ferelden, eh?" She brightened immensely. "That's my homeland. I daresay the only polite thing for me to do is buy you a drink."

Ohgren shrugged. "I don't know about polite, but I could use another drink."

Hawke doubted that. What the dwarf probably needed was a cold bath, but this was the quickest way to get Isabela out. "Right. And here's a pretty girl ready to pay for it. The only thing better would be having _two_ pretty girls ready to buy drinks for a war hero."

"I'm listening."

* * *

Isabela clinked her mug against Hawke's, grinning mischievously. "You still manage to surprise me, Hawke," she laughed, eying the dwarf that was three drinks ahead of them and still going strong. "You just got bailed out by one of the maniacs that slayed the Arch-demon. How do you do it?"

Hawke acted like she was seriously considering the question. "It helps to be ridiculously charismatic. It helps _a lot_."

"I'm sure," Isabela purred and they both turned to watch the dwarf drink.

Hawke passed her pint over to him and asked, "So...you're a Grey Warden, then? And you know Cousland? Please tell us you know really embarrassing stories about him. _Please_."

Ohgren opened his mouth to reply before his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Champion, there's a creepy elf standing behind you all silent like. It's weirding me out. And it takes a lot to creep me out. You ever see a brood mother? Ugliest sodding thing you'll ever see."

Sadly Hawke knew exactly who he was talking about. She turned her head and smiled weakly. "Fenris! You could have said something, you know. I know I have a thing for tall, dark, and creepy but you don't need to impress me anymore. I've seen it _all_."

From Fenris's sudden blush Hawke fretted that she might have gone too far. But he decided to ignore her joke and said briskly, "There have been reports of Tevinter slavers near the mountains. I doubt it's Danarius but I'd like to take care of them regardless."

Hawke nodded too quickly. "Yeah, we can take care of that. If it's in the mountains I'd like to take Merrill along." When he frowned Hawke reminded him, "She knows that area best. And I think Varric's upstairs if you want to grab him while we're here." Hawke turned to Isabela to invite her along and found her chair empty. "Lazy, wannabe pirate," Hawke muttered crossly.

There was a loud burp and Hawke suddenly remembered that Ohgren was still there. She grinned madly and asked him as sweet as she could, "How'd you like to decapitate some slavers, Ohgren?"

"You had me at '_decapitate_'."

* * *

"I miss our horses," Cartier complained for what Sienna pointed out was the fifth time. The Orleasian narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, right. This is nothing for you. You're wearing _robes_, not a ton of armour like the rest of us." He gestured to himself, Aedan, and Edith in one grand gesture.

Aedan kept up the pace, but spared a glance back at Cartier. "Don't worry, Cartier, once we get back to the city we'll find you some robes of your own. Or a nice, new dress. As long as you still kill darkspawn I don't care what you wear."

Sienna brightened at that. "Then can I wear my hair down? 'Cause this fucking bun gives me a headache."

"No." Aedan was strict about that. "If I die because you couldn't watch my back because your hair was in your face I will haunt you all."

She surprisingly didn't complain. She was most likely just glad to be freed from guard duty with the Comtessa's daughters. They walked onward, under the blazing hot sun for another hour. Aedan had decided to go around the Dalish camp, instead of through it. He was on good terms with the Dalish in Ferelden, but he didn't care to test the patience of Kirkwall's free elves.

"Commander," Cartier's voice was a harsh whisper, and Aedan already knew what he was going to tell him.

"Darkspawn. I sense them, too." Aedan stepped towards the rocky mountains, searching the jagged rock for an opening. They walked along the mountainside for a bit more before Aedan found a narrow split in the mountain. It was wide enough for a man to fit through, only one at a time. A foul stench originated from the inside and he heard Edith behind him cough violently. There was darkspawn inside for certain, as well as quite a few corpses. He briefly considered which one he should send in first before he decided on himself.

"I don't hear any movement inside," Sienna quietly pointed out. Cartier nodded his agreement.

Edith kept back and added, "Whatever's in there might already be dead."

Aedan shrugged. "Possibly. I'll go ahead and check it out. Wait ten minutes and then follow. Sienna," he pointed to the mage, "you lead. Put up one of your barrier spells first."

"Right, Commander."

Aedan took one last breath of fresh, clean air before he inched his way inside. His armour caught on some of the rock but he managed to slip through. The narrow passage way opened up to a large cavern that was lit by lyrium veins all along the walls and ceiling. It was a perfect place to stash stolen goods and it seemed that that was what it had been used for.

A good number of human bodies lay dead at the front, their wounds definitely from common darkspawn forged weapons. Their bodies also held signs of taint, but it seemed they had been killed before the taint had changed them. Further inside were cages, most filled with dead or dying elves. If Aedan had to guess slavers had used this cavern to hide from the authorities until they were attacked from darkspawn from the outside. It was a slaughter. A few of the darkspwan had made it inside before they were cut down. Any darkspawn or humans or even elves that had survived the onslaught were long gone and probably not coming back.

Aedan sighed. This would be a simple clean up mission, nothing more. The elves that had survived in their cages moved slowly and unnaturally. The taint had reached them to quickly for any chance of a cure. And the Joining was not an option. Even if they were healthy enough to survive it, he didn't have the materials nearby to make the Joining possible. The most they could do was put the infected out of their misery before they completely changed.

It was not a task he looked forward to completing, even less so when Aedan heard the cry of a newborn child pierce the musky cavern air.

"Shit," he breathed, scrambling towards the sound. It seemed to be coming from one of the cages. "Sienna! Get in here!" he yelled, peering into one of the cages. This one only held one adult elf inside. The taint had gotten to him fully and he-it moved forward when it noticed Aedan's presence. Now that the elf was close Aedan could see it was wearing some sort of sling with a pouch in the front. And lying in that pocket against the elf's chest was the babe.

With every movement of the tainted father, the babe cried anew. Aedan could hear Sienna shouting outside, saying that darkspawn had found them and he knew he wouldn't get any help from his comrades.

Gritting his teeth, Aedan plunged his arms between the bars, trying to grab the babe before it's tainted parent decided it would make a nice appetizer before trying to kill the warden. Aedan caught the sling with one hand, but the former elf found the other and clamped down on it with his broken teeth. "_Maker's balls_," Aedan swore, attempting to pull his hand out of it's jaw. When that failed he released the sling and went for the dagger on his hip. Without another thought, Aedan jabbed the blade into the tainted elf's skull and worked it in until his other hand was freed.

Black blood splatted and dripped down onto the child, but Aedan managed to slip the baby out of the pouch and cage and into his own arms.

There was a chance that the child could be tainted, too, but Aedan shoved that idea away. The babe's sobs were not the dark gargle of darkspawn. It sounded lonely.

Aedan brought him out into the open air, prepared for a fight. Fortunately, Sienna and the rest of them had taken care of whatever 'spawn that had found them. Sienna herself stood atop one of the kills, grinning triumphantly. "Commander, look! I roasted this fucker alive." She continued to smile until Edith asked, her eyebrows raised in concern, "Is that a _baby_?"

As Aedan nodded Sienna whistled appreciatively. "Shit, Commander. I knew you were quick but this is fucking unreal."

Cartier's eyes rolled at her behavior. "It's not his," he hissed and then asked louder, "Orders, Commander?"

Aedan was wiping the babe clean of blood with his own handerchief. "Edith, I need a waterskin now. Food later. I think he's old enough to have solid food."

Sienna danced forward. "It's a he?" When Aedan removed the babe's soiled diaper she nodded again. "Yep, that leaves _nothing_ to the imagination. Do the Tevinters not practice circumcision? Congratulations, it's a boy!"

Aedan waved her away. "There are bodies in there. The slavers are mostly dead, but some of the elves are alive and too tainted to save." Sienna stopped smiling. "The slavers are to be burned where they lie. Sienna, you can take care of that. The rest are to be put down and then we'll, ah, make them a funeral pyre."

"Cut down?" Edith repeated dumbly.

Aedan's eyes darkened. "I told you I didn't do chivalrous knight's work. Go with Cartier. He'll tell you what to do." He looked down, avoiding her gaze and wrapping the child up in one of his spare shirts. The babe took to his waterskin immediately. It was a miracle that he hadn't already starved. By the time Cartier, Sienna, and Edith had the bodies ready to be burned Aedan was feeding the babe bits of dried meat.

Aedan watched them work. "Since these are elves and we don't know which religion they followed, if any, just cover all bases. Cartier, give them an Andrastian funeral rite. Sienna, give them the Dalish version."

"And what if they followed the Qun?" Cartier asked out of curiosity. "What do we do then?" He was quickly elbowed by Sienna.

"Are you trying to get us _more_ work? I already had to memorize two damn funeral rites. Let's not add a third."

"The Qunari have no special rite for the dead bodies themselves. Just stick to the Chantry rite and the Dalish rite for now."

Sienna sighed and began the Dalish ritual in a monotone. "...and fuck, I can't remember the rest." Sienna pouted for a moment before she brightened and tried to continue.

Cartier stared at her, horrified, before he cut her off. "Woah, woah, you need to start over. You can't just blaspheme in the middle of a funeral rite and then keep going! Have some respect for the dead. Do it over again."

"Is that an order?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Cartier answered without missing a beat, "Uh, I think you should do it regardless. Common decency and all that."

She was indignant. "You're not my superior. You don't _get_ to order me about."

"Commander!"

Aedan didn't even turn around to look at them. Their bickering was upsetting the child. Bouncing the babe in his arms, Aedan called over his shoulder, "Cartier _is_ your superior, Sienna. You don't get to say 'fuck' in the middle of a funeral and then get to be in charge." He wasn't bothered about her lack of respect for the dead. As a Circle mage she was probably deadened to it. Mages didn't get funerals; they just vanished.

"Well, fuck."

Instead of chastising her for her language, Aedan was prepared to repeat her eloquent phrasing. Because coming over a sandy hill was Hawke, followed closely by a few of her companions. And there was no doubting where their company was headed...straight for Aedan and his subordinates, all surrounded by a large and incriminating amount of carnage.

* * *

Ohgren, who had previously been complaining about the unnecessary amount of walking, suddenly fell silent. Hawke glanced back at him in surprise. "Darkspawn got your tongue, warden?"

"You could say that," he answered too loudly, just a little bit tipsy. There was a odd glint in the dwarf's blue eyes, shadowed by his thick, blood-red eyebrows. "There's a large group of the nug humpers up ahead. Can't say if they're dead or alive, though."

"Then what good are you?" Fenris snorted contemptuously. Hawke, Varric, and Merrill ignored his snide remarks, being so used to them, but Ohgren was going to damned if he was going to let the skinny elf sass him without consequence.

"Hold on, I'm sensing something else nearby. Yeah, yeah. There's an snarky little elf somewhere in the vicinity. Someone should go and kick his scrawny ass. I _volunteer_."

Hawke snickered, but didn't take him up on his offer. As they were coming over a hill she caught sight of four standing bodies and a large, smoking pile of something that smelled awful. She gestured to her companions to hold. "We've got company."


	11. Chapter 11: Pure Bloods and Mongrels

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 11: Pure Bloods and Mongrels **

**A/N:** This is a shorter chapter but with work and all I figured I'd better get something down quick before I get swamped again.

* * *

Aedan was less than pleased to see Marian Hawke, snarky and seemingly carefree Champion of Kirkwall, parade over a hill and right into his team's current position. Especially considering the incredible amount of carnage that was surrounding the lot of them. Things could easily escalate if the situation wasn't properly explained or if rash suppositions were made. In fact, Aedan did not think his predicament could get any worse until he saw who one of the dwarves at Hawke's side were.

As the Champion and her group quickly approached Aedan sputtered, "Ohgren?" Aedan's cold eyes swung from the dwarf in question and stared into the Champion's own. "What are you doing with _Ohgren_?"

She seemed even more surprised at his presence than he was of hers. "What are you doing with a _baby_?"

"Hello, Commander!" Ohgren triumphantly waved at Aedan as if he had planned their chance meeting from the beginning. "Thought I'd find you here."

Aedan wasn't the only one skeptic of the truth of that remark. Cartier said with a single raised brow, "You thought we'd be in the middle of Kirkwall's mountain range?"

Ohgren grinned at that. "No, knowing Cousland I figured you'd be surrounded by dead darkspawn. And it seems I was right." He smirked haughtily at his commander who simply rolled his eyes.

"Yes, but that hardly explains why _you're_ with the _Champion_," Aedan searched for an answer in Marian but she had some questions of her own.

She seemed less cheerful now, wearing a stern glare Aedan had never seen from her before now. "You're burning bodies. We could smell it a mile from here." She added, her eyes narrowing. "I was at Lothering when it fell. I know the scent."

Aedan responded too quickly and a little too forcefully, "Do you recall the scent of _darkspawn_? Because that's what happened here. We're simply the clean up crew and bearer of bad news. Sienna," he barked to the mage behind him. "Report."

"Some fucking darkspawn came and...uh," Sienna began before she suddenly flushed and then restarted. "I mean, a medium sized group of slavers and their, uh, cargo," she winced, "were stashed in an opening in the mountain. Their only exit was seemingly blocked by darkspawn who stormed their cavern and slaughtered all they could reach. Only a few elves survived in their cages, but they were tainted beyond help when we reached them."

Cartier, Edith, and even Aedan stared at her for a long time. Cartier muttered in mock awe, "I didn't know you knew that many words, aside from 'fuck', 'damn' and what had become my personal favorite 'nug-shit on a cracker'."

Irked at their ridiculous behavior, Aedan turned his attention back to Hawke, where it belonged. "They weren't people anymore. We gave them mercy," he explained slowly and with no amount of pleasure.

She didn't argue. Instead she looked at the babe in his arms and asked quietly, "Are you going to provide that same mercy for the child?"

Unconsciously, his arms tightened around the squirming bundle. "It takes, generally, seven days for the taint to corrupt a normal man. As of now the child appears to be unaffected." He didn't want to state in words what would have to be done if that changed.

"I see." Hawke didn't seemed appeased, but she only asked one more question. "Was there no other way?"

"No." There was no hesitation now, where years ago, when he was warden recruit fresh from the Joining, his answer might have been very different. Maker, this wasn't how he wanted to meet her next. What he had wanted was to sit down with Hawke over a pint and delicately and tactfully tell her about the King's proposition. Having her see him in a situation where his morality was in question was not beneficial in any way to his cause.

Hawke didn't stay long after that. There wasn't much for her to do. Most everyone was already halfway to ash.

Ohgren thanked her for the drinks, which made Aedan cringed. Hopefully Ohgren hadn't started talking while Hawke was buying him drinks. There was a lot about him that Aedan didn't need Hawke knowing. Like the first time Morrigan had shape-shifted into a spider in front of him and he had tripped over himself in his haste to run away. That was _not_ an anecdote he wanted Ohgren sharing with _everyone_.

And, _really_, asking someone if they'd still be attracted to you if you were a giant spider and then transforming into said eight-legged creature from the Void is just not okay.

Edith stepped up next to him, side-eying the dwarf with obvious disdain. "How do you plan on telling the Comtessa you're bringing an elven child into her home?"

Oh, _damn_ it all. "Very carefully."

* * *

"Well, that was disappointing." Hawke kicked at sand with her boots in a lame attempt to amuse herself. "At least we know it wasn't Danarius," she told Fenris and shrugged.

He didn't share her half-assed enthusiasm. "That doesn't make any of them any less dead," he pointed out dryly. He then looked as if he was afraid he had offended but Hawke simply shrugged again.

"No, no, that's true." This time she kicked at a rock and sent it flying down the sandy dune below them. "Too bad we weren't a bit quicker. I could have had an elven baby." Her gaze darkened and she said words meant only for herself and not for Fenris to ever hear. "There went my only real chance."

But of course he heard.

* * *

"Milord, we should inform the Comtessa of our new...guest," Edith finished uncertainly. Aedan just waved her away, his attention focused on the small body sitting on one of his pillows.

"Later. I'll tell her later. Oh, and Cartier, can you go down to the kitchens and get something for the tyke to eat? I know I worded that as a request but it was really wasn't." As Cartier rolled his eyes and stomped downstairs, the child started rolling around on his stomach and Aedan had to keep him from falling off the large bed. "Slow down, pup," he laughed while scooping him up in his arms.

Edith remained where she was, watching her superior for a bit before speaking her mind. "Milord, the Comtess will find out. If he cries-"

"You won't cry, will you, pup?" As Aedan said that Cartier returned with a plate of cold meats and fruit. The child saw it and whined, his tiny arms reaching for the plate and pushing against Aedan's chest.

The commander frowned. "You little shit," he said in the most caring way possible.

Ohgren of all people had a solution. "He just needs a little nip of whiskey, is all."

"You _keep_ that dwarven swill away from him." Aedan stood, handed the babe off to Edith. "And, no, before you ask, Ohgren, we're not naming him after you." Straightening his shoulders, Aedan left to speak with the Comte and Comtessa. And also to find a nursemaid for the babe. And later to find a _name_ for the babe.

At least he'd be busy.

The Comte wasn't pleased with the new arrangement, but he obviously couldn't figure out a polite way to decline because he allowed it. One of the elven servants had a sister who was a nanny and so Aedan sent Edith and Cartier down to Lowtown to hire her and bring her back. Sienna amused the child with small, probably not dangerous, glowing orbs that bounced off the walls and ceiling.

Ohgren was helping him pick out a name.

"We are _not_ naming him Darkspawn Bait."

"Half-pint?"

"No."

"Ohgren, Junior?"

"I've said 'no' to that twelve times."

"Pointy?"

"That's racist. _Why_ am I even letting you help again?"

Sienna hummed as she summoned another orb. "I think Carlin would be nice."

Aedan threw up his hands. "If it gets Ohgren to stop talking, Carlin it is."

"Ohgren, Junior-"

_"__I've said 'no' thirteen times!"_

* * *

Moira bounded ahead of him, only stopping every so often to sniff something or someone interesting. Most of the shop vendors in Hightown seemed wary of his pet, running unleashed around the marketplace, but Aedan paid them no heed. He could always play the noble card and start listing off titles until they stopped complaining. Or his favorite, the "I didn't kill the Arch-demon to put up with this shit". He admittedly used that one too often.

Moira had been cooped up in the Comte's home, growing fat on the servant's treats. It was time for a little exercise. For _both_ of them, Aedan had to admit, patting his own abdomen. This rich, Orleasian food would be the death of him. Though the food was too rich for his tastes, Carlin was loving it. He was probably back at the Comte's place being fed by his new nursemaid right now.

His pure-blood mabari hound charged her way around one of the tall, stone corners of Hightown, causing Aedan to lose sight of her for a moment. He quickened his pace, knowing Edith and Ohgren who were trailing behind him would do the same. He rounded the corner, searched for his dog and-

He _screamed_. It was so completely out of character but dammit if it wasn't also completely called for. He prided himself in being level headed, if one was to command anyone they had to be. But that was his Maker-damned _baby girl _out in that street being-being _harassed_ by some backwater mongrel.

"GET YOUR DAMN MUTT OFF OF MY GIRL!"

* * *

Hawke skidded to a halt and then stumbled forward as Merrill fell into her from behind. Damn, if Merrill would stop skipping everywhere this wouldn't happen every time Hawke had to make a stop. Well, maybe Hawke had been skipping, too, but that was hardly the point.

Regardless, Hawke had slowed down after hearing what had to be the loudest bastard she'd ever heard call her dog a 'mutt'. Now, granted she didn't know for _certain_ that Rebel was _pure_-blood mabari (honestly, if was very unlikely), his outburst was still very uncalled for.

Or maybe it wasn't, she decided once she saw what the man was undoubtedly seeing.

"Oh." Merrill whispered. She repeated, "Oh. I'm not sure if your dog realizes he's in public."

"I think he knows, Daisy," Varric chuckled. "He's a smart dog, but that still isn't stopping him."

"Aw, Rebel. Like I don't have enough trouble without you rutting in the middle of Hightown, probably with some noble's prissy lap-dog." Well, actually the dog Rebel was, uh, _romancing_ was awful big for one of the Kirkwall noble's pets. Kirkwallers usually had prettied upped dogs who were bred for their small size. A Ferelden owner would make much more sense for the beast under her pet beast.

Varric nudged her and indicated a certain direction with a tilt of his head. "Uh oh. Here comes your dog's girlfriend's daddy." Merrill and now Sebastian looked where Varric had nodded to.

"_Cousland_?" Hawke couldn't stop the laughs that came out along with his name. From his seething glare he did not find the situation as humorous as she did.

"Call off your damn mongrel," he hissed and Hawke realized that, no, he did not find this funny at all.

She obeyed, but that didn't mean this was over. "Rebel," Hawke whistled shrilly and her dog came to her side, albeit reluctantly.

"If your dog's in heat," Aedan continued as he inspected his own hound, "keep him on a bloody leash."

"Whoa," Hawke protested, frowning. "That little rendezvous was not one-sided. I hate to say it but if anyone's in heat it's _your_ dog. Not mine."

"Not possible," he said without a moment's consideration. "Moira's been bred to ignore such base thoughts while guarding her master."

"So it couldn't _possibly_ be your fault," she surmised, her mood darkening to match his. Sebastian laid a cautious hand on her arm. "And what are you even still doing here? The banquet ended days ago."

He pulled at the cuff of one of his sleeves. "I have further business in Kirkwall."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

Hawke growled, ready to retort before Varric caught both of their attention by sighing dramatically and saying in a resigned tone, "Here we go." He then pulled out a small leather bound journal used for keeping notes. "Now, if you two say anything _really_ memorable make sure you enunciate your words so I can catch it all. Or if you start kissing you'll both need to turn a bit so I can get a better angle. For the _good_ of my _audience_, people," he added when Hawke and Aedan both stared at him.

The Warden was completely bewildered. "Was that _supposed_ to make any damn sense?"

"Not to you," Hawke shrugged, unapologetic. "And we're not going to kiss, Varric, so put your pen away."

"Then you two have to fight."

Hawke watched as Aedan glared down at his own dwarven companion, the look on his face saying 'what are you trying to do?' "Ohgren, what in the void is in your flask today?"

Ohgren rolled his eyes. "It's _obvious,_" he said as if they were the slow ones. "If you ain't gonna fuck, you gotta fight. You humans mess around with all those other emotions too sodding much. There's two activities worth pursuing in life and that's _it_."

"Fucking and fighting?" Hawke grinned, taking a guess.

Aedan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Life may be that simple for you, Ohgren, but the rest of us make it out to be a bit more complex than that."

"Yeah, and how much fun is that?" Ohgren asked with a snort. "Besides, everyone knows that you have a _thing_ for dark haired apostates."

"_Everyone_ doesn't know that," Varric hummed, jotting something down in his journal. Aedan moved closer to him to try to get a peek at his scribbled writing.

"What? What are you writing down? I-Maker, dwarf, am I _not_ looking at Hawke as if she's my long lost love born again-_where are you even getting all of this nonsense?!_"

"Ignore him. He always does that," Hawke advised him, completely unconcerned. "If you won't answer my first question, why are you in Hightown?"

Aedan didn't appear appeased. "I was visiting the Chantry."

Sebastian brightened and nodded pleasantly to the Warden. "I saw you there the other morning."

"Ugh, you went there _twice_?"

Aedan shrugged noncommittally. "People notice if I don't. Don't your people care if you go?"

She chuckled at that. It was a surprisingly bitter sound. "I'm an _apostate_. Why would I go? And I _do_ visit there occasionally. Mostly to flirt with Sebastian but if getting Sebastian to realize his true place in life isn't the Maker's work than I don't know what is. And in case I wasn't clear before, Sebastian's place is in my _pants_."

Sebastian quickly released her arm while Merrill giggled. "Hawke!"

Aedan couldn't help but snort and then say words he would later come to regret. "I can see where your hound gets it from."

"And we're back to that," Varric sighed. "There's unnecessary drama wherever you go, Hawke. It's _wonderful_."

Hawke's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared unattractively. "Okay, that's it. We're going with Ohgren's life philosophy. I'm going to kick your ass, Warden."

* * *

**A/N:** Carlin means 'small champion' in Gaelic.


	12. Chapter 12: Teamwork

**Our Ghosts Are The Same**

**Dragon Age 2**

**Chapter 12: **Teamwork

**A/N: **It took awhile to write this chapter. Mainly because I just bought Saints Row IV. It's surprising this got done at all, considering I need to study for the ASVAB.

* * *

_"__I'm going to kick your ass, Warden."_

Aedan stared at Hawke, wondering how it had come to this so damn quickly. Usually he had to kill someone's father first _before_ they swore vengeance against him. "You're rather blood thirsty, aren't you?" he said, stalling. He was so going to kick Ohgren later. On second thought, to the Void with that, he'd kick him now. "Look what you've done!" he hissed vehemently to the oblivious dwarf.

"Hey!" Hawke snapped her fingers in front of his face, causing him to grit his teeth in irritation. "Eyes up here. Sebastian, give me one of your gloves."

"If you _slap_ me with that glove," Aedan threatened, "I will _not_ hesitate to hit you back."

"That's sort of the _point_." Hawke rolled her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to steal one of Sebastian's archer gloves. The brother was being very uncooperative. "Maker, Sebastian, if I'm going to challenge a noble to a duel I need to do it _right_. I _have_ to slap him in the face with a glove. Wow, saying that out loud I suddenly realize how girly that tradition is."

"I didn't come up with it," Aedan grumbled, eying her warily. "It's probably an Orleasian thing."

As Hawke wrestled Sebastian into a headlock, trying to get at one of his gloves, and Aedan was watching, unamused, at the spectacle in front of him, one of Kirkwall's citizens was trying to get their attention.

"Uh, Champion? May I have a moment of your time?" The commoner jumped up a few times as if that would help get Hawke to notice him. "Serah?"

"Just. A. Moment," Hawke huffed, still fighting with Sebastian who was protesting all the while. "I just need to get...holy _shit_, Sebastian, is that Andraste's face poking me or is it-"

Sebastian sputtered, his accent suddenly getting thicker, "You cannot harass a member of the Chantry in this manner!"

"That's not what Sister Bridgett said last night."

"HAWKE!"

Aedan rubbed his temples until the skin turned red. He quickly turned his back on Hawke and addressed the waiting Kirkwaller. "Do you have something you need to discuss with the Champion, ser?"

The man looked even more nervous having Aedan standing over him. He started stuttering and all Aedan caught was "my stupid ass of a son-in-law", "lost in the bloody Deep Roads", and "bring him back alive only if you have to".

Interesting. "I know I haven't introduced myself," Aedan began, already feeling himself relaxing at the thought of more work to be done, "but I'm a Grey Warden. I can handle this for you. No charge," he added, guessing the man's next question.

Hawke was suddenly paying attention. She dropped Sebastian in the dust and quickly marched over. "Hey! This is my job, Cousland. Shove off and go help your own people."

Aedan frowned. "My people? You're Ferelden, too."

"And we're back to the drama," Varric noted, writing some more scribbles down. "This is not as interesting as a fight would be but I'll throw in some pirates or something." And though Aedan was curious to see what he could be writing about, he refrained from literally stooping that low again.

Hawke tried to nudge Aedan out of her way. "Serah, don't worry. I'll take care of this. I've explored the Deep Roads dozens of times," she said pleasantly to the man in need, glaring at Aedan at the same time. Aedan was not going to be shoved aside so easily.

"Yeah, well, I practically _live_ in the Deep Roads," he countered. "Your offer of help is appreciated, though unnecessary."

"You're unnecessary. You shouldn't even be here."

"Yet, here I am."

"Leave."

"And I aim to please. I _will_ be leaving. For the Deep Roads. To find his son-in-law," Aedan stated, jerking a thumb back towards the commoner.

The Kirkwaller was lost now. "Um, I'm not sure what I should do here...but I think I'm going to go." He backed up a few steps. "Yeah. I'm out. I just want my daughter to stop crying."

Varric was scribbling so much that even Merrill and Sebastian, who were used to this sort of thing, moved away from him. Aedan and Hawke picked right back up in their bickering.

"As Commander of the Grey Wardens," Aedan listed his title off arrogantly, "I think this sort of task is better suited for-"

"I don't give a rat's ass who's better suited for it. I'm going. _End of story_."

"Oh, let's hope not," Varric muttered absentmindedly.

Aedan's brow furrowed. "I swear I have not understood a single damn thing that dwarf has said. Is he sane?"

"We're still looking into that."

"Look harder."

Hawke paused for a moment to watch Sebastian try to dust off his shiny, white armor. Aedan couldn't help noticing how stupid his armour choice was. He barely managed not to point it out. Maker, it seemed the Chantry liked to keep their protectors visible. White armour may be pretty, but smart? Not even a little. "Cousland", Hawke tried again, her voice turning softer. "If you get in my way I will kick you in your armoured balls. Understand?"

What in the Void did Eamon want this woman as a spy for? She was about as tactful as, well, as _Ohgren_. "What I understand, my lady, is that you fail to see logic. The Deep Roads is full of darkspawn and the taint. It's _marginally_ safer for a Warden. And that small margin does make a difference."

"Ogres, genlocks, hurlocks, and emissaries. I've seen them. I know what they can do. What_ I_ can do." Hawke continued to argue her point.

He snorted, shaking his head. "If only those things were the _only_ creatures down there. _Please_, give this up, Champion. You're family has already shown they are susceptible to the taint," he added and then his own eyes widened as he realized how that might sound to her. "I apologize. I shouldn't have brought that up."

Hawke looked away, dismissing it. "You're saying I'm unqualified? Yeah, well, your body count back in the foundry wasn't that impressive. Of course, there really isn't a way to make _zero_ sound impressive."

"Those were civilians," he sneered, though he was glad they hadn't come to blows, yet. "I'd impress you more in the Deep Roads."

Then she brought up something Ohgren had mentioned. "I'm not your black haired apostate. Unlike her, I don't need you to impress me."

Oh, blast it. Aedan didn't know how he had gotten on the bad side of the Champion and her sex crazed dog (okay, he had some idea), but if she thought bringing up Morrigan was going to help any...

And impressing Morrigan had taken _a lot _of work. The woman could turn into a _bear_, for Andaste's sake. Topping that was really hard.

Literally.

Hawke had her hands on her hips. Aedan might not know her well but when his mother had adopted that stance she had always got her way. It looked like he'd have to compromise. "All right, Champion. I know when to admit defeat. We'll go to the Deep Roads together."

"Together?" she repeated. "I'm not going to hold your hand, Warden."

"I'm not asking you to." Aedan turned in a circle, searching for his dog. "Have you seen-MOIRA, YOU GET _AWAY_ FROM THAT MUTT. _NO_! BAD GIRL!"

Hawke simply shrugged. "_Told_ you it was your dog that was in heat."

"I don't want to hear it," Aedan snapped. "Just decide who you're bringing with you while I go grab my own team. We'll convene tomorrow."

"No problem. I'm sure my friends are all dying to go into the Deep Roads again."

Varric grinned at her. "You take us all to such nice places, Hawke."

"If you're lucky, maybe after we'll head to the Black Emporium."

"Oh, _fun_."

* * *

Before Aedan had left the Comte's mansion that morning he had placed Sienna and Cartier in charge of the child. So he was not surprised to find Carlin alone and underneath his bed. The little pup must have rolled under there while Sienna and Cartier were looking the other way. He'd have to make sure that those two never got a hold of _his_ child...

_No, don't think about that. Morrigan told you you wouldn't get to see him. Ever. She made that perfectly clear._

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He _could_ have gone with her. But he hadn't. Instead he had chosen an occupation he had been _forced_ into over her. Maker, that had been _stupid_. He could be traveling the continent with her rather than sitting in his office trying to find small ways to keep his men and women from dying a horrific and slow death.

His right hand went self-consciously to his left, searching his middle finger for the ring he used to wear there. He had started wearing Morrigan's ring on a chain, hidden underneath his shirt, after the Dalish elf that had helped him find Morrigan (along with Finn) had pointed out that he fidgeted with it a lot. Aedan remembering getting pissed at that. Not because _she_ had noticed but because _he_ hadn't noticed.

Why had Morrigan had even bothered giving him that ring he'd never know. She had yet to use it. Sometimes Aedan even suspected she only kept it to make sure he wasn't too close. She had plans, he had guessed that much, and he probably would only get in the way.

_Damn_ it. What was it about Kirkwall that was bringing up these thoughts? He needed to end this little field trip of Eamon's. Whether or not he personally felt Hawke was a good candidate for Ferelden's blossoming spy network.

They'd talk business after the Deep Roads. If he could handle not insulting her dog, he'd invite her for drinks later and then they'd get this settled and done with.

And after that he'd get to go back on that bloody ship. Fantastic.

* * *

"So," Varric began ever so tactfully. Hawke caught on quickly and anticipated his question.

"Just because I didn't fight him then, doesn't mean it won't happen. We might have to settle for arm wrestling, though, instead of a duel. Such a shame."

"Okay, second question," Varric continued before she cut him off again.

"Who am I taking with me?" she smiled. "Well, I just _couldn't_ go without you, Varric."

"No, you just couldn't."

"I can't go," Sebastian sighed. "_Evidently_ I need to have a talk with Sister Bridget."

"Don't mention my dining room table if you know what's good for you, Sebastian," Hawke warned him, grinning gleefully as he hurried away. She could hear him reciting the Chant as he went. "And anyway, that leaves out Sebastian, Merrill's AWOL, Isabela _hates_ the Deep Roads, Aveline doesn't like to leave her guards for that long..."

"That just leaves Blondie and Broody."

"My _favorite_ combination."

* * *

"The Comte has a pretty impressive wine cellar," Cartier remarked, eying each bottle appreciatively. "I'm sure he won't notice if a few bottles go back to Ferelden with us."

Sienna tore the cork off one bottle, sipping at it's contents. She turned to her companion with a slight nod. "Hopefully that's soon. These templars make me nervous."

"_Butterflies_ make you nervous. And you need to let that breathe."

"Have you ever looked at them closely? They're gross."

Cartier gave her a worried look. "The templars should have let you go outside more."

"They did. Until fucking _Anders_." She suddenly shook her head, picking up another bottle and reading the label. "Anyway, when do you think the Commander will do it? I mean, how long do we have to fucking be here?"

"Are you talking about the Commander's impending marriage? I honestly thought he would have made his intentions clear at the banquet, but for some reason he's stalling. Courting a woman is a tiresome affair. It takes time and more tact than I think the Commander is used to."

"Ah, maybe he just needs a little push."

"_Maybe_ he needs us to stay out of it."

"I don't think...wait, I hear someone coming."

"_Shit_! We're not supposed to be down here. Hide!"

Cartier and Sienna ducked down behind one of the wine racks and waited as the sound of heavy footsteps came closer. There was a slight pause and they both held their breath, hoping to the Maker that this was a servant they could bribe into silence and not the Comte. Or _worse_, their commander.

"Oh, fuck. We're supposed to be watching the _baby_."

"Shut up!" Cartier hissed and then fell silent. Whoever was in the room was now close enough so that Cartier could see his boots and the bottom of his sword's sheath. Ah, damn that sword was familiar; the _Commander_ was there with them.

Cartier winced as Cousland said without looking at either of them, "I know you two are down here. The servants ratted you out. I don't care what you're doing as long as it doesn't affect our work. And speaking of work, we head to the Deep Roads tomorrow at sunup." Sienna groaned audibly and smacked her head repeatedly against Cartier's shoulder. He quickly nudged her away. Perhaps they weren't going to be punished for sneaking about the Comte's mansion. The Commander continued, heading back towards the upstairs area, "Oh, and bring me up a bottle, hmm? I'm going to drink it while I watch YOU TWO RUN UP AND DOWN THE CHANTRY'S STAIRS FOR LEAVING THE CHILD. ARE YOU _INSANE_? WE STILL DON'T KNOW IF HE HAS THE TAINT AND YOU LET HIM ROLL UNDERNEATH MY _BED_? _THAT'D_ BE A NICE SURPRISE FOR THE CHAMBERMAID. I WANT YOU UPSTAIRS IN TEN AND BE PREPARED TO SWEAT."

Cartier closed his eyes while Sienna muttered, "I _told_ you we were forgetting something."

* * *

Aedan and his crew were waiting for her outside of Hightown. And they had been waiting there for hours. Hawke knew that because Aedan told her, "Where have you _been_? We've been waiting here for hours!"

Hawke simply held up a hand in response. "Whoa. I've only been awake for, like, five minutes. I think I slept walked here. Which is terrifying, considering I was leading everyone. Could have went right over a cliff and-"

"I sent you a message last night to meet us here at sunrise."

"And _I_ never sent you a message back saying I _agreed_ to wake up at that ungodly hour." Honestly, looking at who he brought with him, she was surprised Cousland had convinced them to wake up so early. It had probably involved kicking. Lots of kicking, especially in Ohgren's case.

His brow knitted together before smoothing over. He looked to her companions and then gestured to his own. "I have all wardens here with me today. I think we should let each other know our strengths and weaknesses before we go on."

"Whatever for?"

If it was possible the Warden looked even more irritated. "So that we may form a battle strategy."

Varric snorted and continued to laugh until Hawke kicked at him. "Hawke's _battle strategy _is to jut roll into battle like a great gravy pudding."

"Varric, I _told_ you to stop describing me like that! And, Anders, _stop hiding behind me for_ _Andraste's sake! _You're a grown man! Cousland's not _that_ terrifying."

Cousland's head shot up in interest. "Anders?"

"Yeah, he's..." Hawke took a moment to yank Anders from behind her and thrust him in front of the warden. "Right here. Him and all his bloody feathers."

Anders kept his head down. "Uh, Hawke, you failed to mention that the Warden-Commander would be joining us today."

"Did I?"

"You complete jackass!" Cousland suddenly bellowed. "No good, disloyal-"

Hawke slammed the bottom of her staff onto the ground. "Hey! Don't talk to me like that, you-"

"I'm talking to _Anders_."

"Oh." She waved a hand in the air. "Then, carry on." Anders glared at her in silent protest.

Cousland ignored her and stomped over to Anders, fisting a hand in his loose robes. Anders was lighter than he remembered; Aedan accidentally pulled him too hard and they were suddenly nose to nose. A little closer than Aedan liked, but this way he wouldn't have to shout. "Anders, I need answers."

Varric tried to step in, though Fenris looked more than happy to let Aedan have his way. "Uh, Warden, could you back off a step? Blondie doesn't do well in close spaces."

Surprisingly Aedan seemed to acknowledge that. "My apologies, Anders. I had forgotten. But I _do_ need to ask you something."

Once Aedan had released his collar and Anders's feet were touching the ground again, the mage seemed to relax. "It's...understandable, Commander. I expected you to be upset. But I think also that you expected me to leave."

"Well, yes," Aedan agreed easily. "But I did _not_ expect you to leave _without your bloody cat_."

Anders brightened immensely. "_Ser Pounce? _How is he? How is my little bitty, cutie patootie-"

"_Maker, stop that_," Aedan pleaded, cringing at the pet names. "That damn cat follows me around the entire bloody Keep. _And_ he keeps rubbing on my leg. Do you know how _difficult_ it is to command an entire castle of men with a kitten purring around your boots? It's not easy. Not to mention I have to keep Moira from eating him every five minutes."

"That beast of yours better not-"

"Don't you threaten my dog," Aedan threatened him, but with no real weight to his words. He suddenly smiled and gripped Anders by his arm. "It's good to see you again, Anders _and_ _company_."

"Justice is doing well," Anders lied. Varric, Fenris, and Hawke all snorted at the same time. "All right, he's not but Kirkwall isn't exactly stable."

"_You're_ not exactly stable," Fenris muttered, catching Aedan's attention at once.

The Warden squinted at him curiously. "Don't I know you? Wait. Were you hiding in the kitchens during Hawke's banquet?"

Fenris seemed surprised that he had been heard. His expression turned wary. "How do you know that?"

"Because _I_ was hiding in the kitchen during the banquet."

Now Hawke stared at Fenris. "_You_ were at the banquet? Why didn't you tell me? I could have had you scare off Lord Cyril for me! Nothing_ I_ was doing was working."

Varric smirked at that in interest. "How's that going with Lord Fussy Pants, anyway?"

"Unfortunately he forgave me for running off into the night and keeps sending me invitations to that Chatty Hat place."

"Chateau Haine," Aedan corrected automatically. "I have heard it's a impressive castle, with an even more impressive grounds. Good hunting. Not to mention you'd be a duchess eventually." When Hawke simply stared at him, he shrugged, saying, "You could do worse is all I'm saying."

She laughed loudly, exposing her throat as her head dipped back. "I'd rather do worse."

"Don't blame you there," Aedan responded, quick to move on from the current conversation. "Now can we form a plan? I suggest that Warden Sienna stays close to Anders. Her specialty is barriers and shields so she'll keep our, ah, sorry, _your_ healer unharmed. Ohgren and I'll take the front and Cartier can take up the rear. That way the darkspawn can't surprise us. I had heard that you've explored this part of the Deep Roads before. Do you have any idea where this man might have went?"

Hawke rocked back on her heels in thought. "He's a treasure hunter, but he's also alone. He'll avoid the darker paths. Look for anything shiny."

They searched the more obvious paths, searching for footprints in the cold rock and dust. Thet ran into darkspawn, sure, but the missing man was nowhere in sight. Ohgren suggested that he had been eaten. Or he had ran into a broodmother and offed himself right there.

The next group of darkspawn left them not unwounded. Cartier was used to having Sienna watching his back and had been struck down. He yet lived, but Aedan quickly forced a nasty tasting health potion down his throat and brought Anders over. Once Anders took over Aedan backed off and waited impatiently. Hawke quickly inched her way over to his side. "Now since we're in a dark cave with no witnesses, would you like to tell me why you're still in Kirkwall?"

"_It's_ because," Cartier drawled, crossing his arms across his still bleeding chest. Healing potions always made him talkative. Anders smacked at him until Cartier moved his arms back to his sides so he could start knitting his skin back together again. Cartier repeated, wincing, "It's because he wants to marry you."

Aedan's face immediately turned crimson, not because he had been embarrassed by what Cartier said. It was more due to the fact that Hawke had slapped him across the face. She drew her hand back quickly and stuttered, "Uh, sorry. I thought he was going to end that sentence with "he wants to fuck you". I anticipated. That's on me."

The Warden slowly moved his gaze from Cartier to Hawke. He looked as if he couldn't decide on looking angry or confused so instead he went with this strange, horrified mixture. "I don't," he hissed, shooting Cartier another stern scowl, "want to marry you."

This time Hawke _meant_ to slap him. "Why the fuck _not_? I'm brilliant!" She tried to ignore the sigh of relief from Anders or the way Fenris had just slowly unclenched his fists.

Aedan stepped away from her. "Maker, Hawke, _stop_ that. I mean I don't _not_ want to marry you, but that _isn't_ why I'm here."

Sienna looked up from the rock she was sitting on. She was still in shock that Cartier had been the one to rat out the Commander. She probably shouldn't have let him drink half the Comte's wine cellar the night before. "Then you _don't_ need to get married?"

Pinching his nose, Aedan looked up at the ceiling. "No, I _do_ need to get married-"

"My condolences," Varric offered.

"Thanks. And I am here in Kirkwall because I have business with Hawke, but the two are not related. At all. _And how do you know about that?_"

"Eavesdropping spell," Cartier answered and Sienna smacked him again.

Aedan repeated in disbelief, "_Eavesdropping_ spell? I'm going to kill both of you."

"Please don't."

"Why not? As the Champion just stated there are no _witnesses_ here."

"It would be bad to murder someone in front of your blushing bride to be?"

"_Not_ his bride! And I'm not blushing. I think Cousland is, though."

"Oh, that's hilarious," Aedan sneered in return. He was about to reprimand Cartier and Sienna some more, even though he didn't particularly care one way or the other that they knew about his future marriage. But a distant shriek distracted him.

No... It couldn't be. A dragon down here? And it sounded _big_.

This time the roar was loud enough that it caused the entire group to shut up and glance about themselves.

Okay, it was really big.

Hawke looked to him as he looked to her. She smiled warily and mouthed the word, "_Dibs_."

* * *

**A/N: **When Anders says in DA2 that he had to leave Ser Pounc-A-Lot with a friend in Amaranthine, I _always_ assumed it was a reluctant Warden that he gave it to.


End file.
